


76, Totter's Lane

by wildwinterwitch



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Chameleon Arch, F/M, Series 1 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 97,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwinterwitch/pseuds/wildwinterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Smith has agreed to look after <i>The Bookshop For Children of All Ages </i>. He also repairs the broken toys his young patrons bring him. Some of the children claim that their toys come alive for a few minutes before they become still once more. It's a nice distraction from his strange dreams. When he finds himself falling in love with Rose Tyler, a shopgirl from <i>Henrik's</i> on the high street, his life has become more exciting than he'd expected – or wanted. And that's only the beginning.</p><p>Updated every Friday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my beta xebgoc.  
> 
> 
>   
> [](http://s285.photobucket.com/user/wildwinterwitch/media/76Banner_zpseb501930.jpg.html)  
> banner by wildwinterwitch

4 March 2005

John carefully pulled his diary out of the pocket of his coat and checked it for water damage. The wind was driving the heavy rain against the shop window in sheets, and had soaked the top of his shoulders. He was glad there was a proper towel in the small staff bathroom that he could use to rub the rain out of his short hair.

To his relief, the diary was still dry. It was dog-eared, the edges were worn smooth from riding in his pocket every morning and from being handled so often. He put it down on the counter, right beside the tin of pencils. He supposed it was going to be a slow day if the weather stayed as miserable as it was. No one who didn’t have to would set foot outside today, not if they could curl up on their sofa with a nice drink and a captivating story to transport them to other worlds.

In the bathroom, he dried his hair and hung up his wet coat, then he put on the kettle and checked the phone and computer for messages. Orders, mostly, but he also expected to hear from Jamie Ashcroft, the shop owner, and from an author to confirm the reading later that week. Those chores done, he made himself a cuppa and took it to the front of the shop, where he put it on the counter beside his diary and got the shop ready for the day. He usually straightened the books on display and set up new ones just after closing, but occasionally he had to make changes in the morning. There was, for example, a calendar counting down the release to the long awaited sequel in the _Miss Carline_ series that needed updating. The till also needed to be set up for the day, making sure the receipt paper would last the day and getting the cash counted and put in.

When he stared out into the street after having turned the page on the calendar, he saw that the rain had, if anything, got worse. The pedestrian street was virtually empty, and those who had to be outside ducked beneath their umbrellas, trying their best to avoid the puddles on the uneven, cracked pavement. Lights from the other shops turned the shiny pavements into a giant’s attempt at laying a mosaic. 

George from the shoe shop opposite waved at him through the double layer of rain-washed shop window. John returned the gesture. Then he turned on the lights and unlocked the door.

He retreated behind the counter to write something he’d just remember about his dream from the night before in his diary. In contrast to most people, he didn’t forget details from his dreams. Sometimes they were so vivid that he thought about them all day long, which gave him time to write them down or, when words failed him, to sketch them. Sitting on the bar stool he kept there for precisely this purpose, he drew the leather-bound journal towards him.

Some of the images from his dreams were so outlandish that he struggled to figure out what they meant. Sometimes he saw odd machinery, as if from a science fiction novel, but he was quite sure that he had never read descriptions in them that remotely resembled what manifested in his dreams. The same went for the creatures he drew. And they weren’t even really dreams. They were snippets, parts of longer stories, like missing scenes cut from a film and playing in his mind in a perverse kind of easter egg.

At one point he’d decided to get them onto paper, with words and drawings, to understand, to see if all his sketches combined into one larger picture. So far, they hadn’t. They were just fragments. There was one linking element, however, one that he could neither sketch nor scribble about. It was a sound, a kind of wheezing that went on for a while before it faded away or ended with the beat of a drum. Even more curious was the fact that instead of ending his mind’s nocturnal wanderings, the beat of the drum started them.

John flipped to the next empty spread of pages and picked one of the pencils from the tin. After a fortifying sip of tea he started to commit the alien that had featured in last night’s dream to paper. He really ought to get some coloured pencils too, maybe some watercolours even, to remember the creatures’ colouring. This one was a dark orange, and although it was an erect biped, its elephantine skin was covered in suckers, and it had only two fingers and an opposable thumb. The face would have looked vaguely human if it hadn’t been for its numerous pointy teeth.

John straightened on his stool and folded his arms, pressing the pencil against his upper arm. “There was something else,” he muttered.

The shop.

Alarmed, he looked up, but there was no one apart from him in here, nor were there any wet footprints or drip trails on the floor to show that someone had been in aside from him.

He closed the book with a quick flip. This was becoming ridiculous. His dreams were taking up too much of his time, even if it was a slow morning. There were quite a few books in the small compartment beneath the counter that he wanted to read. Spending the slow morning educating himself was certainly better than escaping to unknown worlds.

A short trip to the shop door told him that the rain hadn’t let up and that it was probably safe to nip to the office to put the kettle on for another cuppa.

-:-

The rain was hammering relentlessly onto the black material of his umbrella when he locked up the shop for a quick trip to the café round the corner. Somehow, the remainder of the morning had gone by quickly despite only two customers coming in. When he was sure the lunchtime rush of office workers was over, he flipped the sign in the door to tell potential customers that he’d be right back. Naoko, who normally came in around lunchtime and either brought him a homemade bento box full of goodies or his favourites from the café round the corner, had called in sick in the morning. He’d found her message on the answering machine, and she’d sounded really terrible. On a day like this, closing the shop for a short while wouldn’t make much difference. 

His umbrella was largely ineffective, so he hurried to the sandwich shop. If anything, the breeze had picked up and was tugging violently on the taut material of his brolly. The windows of the café were steamed up from the humidity the patrons brought into the small shop. Still, he couldn’t make out many customers moving about inside, which meant that he’d be out again in flash.

There was a young woman at the counter, selecting the fillings of sandwiches for several people. She was wearing the neat uniform worn by the shop assistants from Henrik’s out on Regent Street. Her unnaturally blonde hair was dark with rain, and the backs of her black tights were soaked through. The paper bag she had brought with her looked just as soggy.

Maggie waved at him from behind the counter when she spotted him, and he greeted her back with a cheerful hello.

The young woman turned around to look at him. Woman was exaggerating a little. She looked barely out of her teens. He found her strong jaw oddly attractive, but what really drew him in were her caramel-coloured eyes — caramel, really? — and her full lips. She smiled briefly at him before she turned back to the counter.

John blinked. He had the strange feeling that he’d met her before, although he knew that he hadn’t. It had only been a couple of weeks since he’d taken over The Bookshop from Jamie, and he’d never set foot inside Henrik’s, nor had she come into the shop. Still, the feeling of familiarity wouldn’t leave him alone.

He went to the fridge to pick up a bottle of water, and just as he closed the door, there was a faint tearing sound followed by the tumble of several heavy objects on the rough, damp floorboards. The girl’s paper bag had finally given in.

“Oh shit!” she muttered.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, putting the bottle and his brolly onto a nearby table, and crouching to help her collect the contents of her bag. “These just aren’t made for the weather in this country.”

She laughed. “No, they aren’t. But they’re so pretty, and pretty is what the people want.”

He grinned at her, but ducked his head quickly when he noticed his ears going pink. He was far too old for this. For her. He grabbed the slightly damp magazines and a handful of creme eggs, as well as a packet of tights and a box of tampons.

“Oh!” she gasped when she saw what he was staring at.

He thrust the small box at her. “I… umm… I’ll get you a plastic bag. Much better in this kind of weather.” He scrambled to his feet to beg a plastic bag off Maggie. It turned out he needn’t have. She was already holding out one for him.

“Thanks, Maggie,” he said, before he turned to the girl and held the bag open so she could stow the items away. “Have you got everything?” he asked as she wadded up the torn paper bag and gave it to Maggie.

“I think so,” she said. “Thanks.” She held one of the creme eggs out for him.

“What’s this for?”

“For helping me. Please, take it.”

“Oh, umm…”

“For your kid then,” she said.

His heart constricted. “No kid,” he managed to say.

She coloured. She was still holding the egg out for him, and, smiling broadly, he finally took it. It was a token of her gratitude, and it would have been rude to turn it down, even for such a minor thing. “Thank you,” he said, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt.

“I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I?”

“Sort of, yeah,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known, don’t worry.” He flashed her one last smile before he turned away to fumble with his brolly and the bottle of water. Thankfully, someone had left a copy of the Metro behind on the table, over which he now gratefully bent.

“That’s fifteen pound sixty, love,” Maggie said.

_Lunch for quite a few._

He heard the rustle of another plastic bag as Maggie handed over the carefully wrapped sandwiches. Then the girl left.

“So, John,” Maggie said. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ll have a jacket potato today.”

“Comfort food, eh? What’s it to be with it, love?”

“Just lots of cheese, please. And a slice of your lemon cake, for after,” he said.

“Coming up. Anything for Naoko?”

“Nah, she’s not at the shop today. Migraine.”

“Ah, poor love.”

He stared at the red, gold and purple egg in his palm. It was a physical reminder of the encounter with the beautiful girl. It wasn’t something that had happened in his dreams.

“It’s not normally her job to come and get lunch,” Maggie said, looking pointedly at the egg in his hand as she picked up a slice of lemon cake and slipped it into a paper bag. John pocketed the egg so it wouldn’t melt in his warm hand.

Not knowing what to say, he pursed his lips in a failed attempt to smile. “Just like it isn’t mine,” he said.

“No, but you pop in for a snack regularly enough, love,” she pointed out, putting on a pair of oven mittens to get the jacket potato.

“What are you trying to tell me?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Nothin’. You seemed… shaken by her.”

“I’m not _shaken,_ ” he scoffed.

“Falling all over yourself like you did? Blushing? And pushing her away when she said thanks?”

He sighed in exasperation. “What’s your point?”

“She’s pretty.”

“And I’m far too old for her. I’m nearly twice her age.”

“So? Bit of flirting has never hurt anyone,” she said, popping the potato into a styrofoam container. “On the other hand, it’s never gone as horribly wrong.”

“It’s been a while,” he mumbled, despite himself.

“My point exactly,” she said. “This one’s on the house, love.”

-:-

Maggie was right. The girl had shaken him, but on more than the superficial level that Maggie had implied. John was sure that he had never met the girl before, and yet he felt a connection to her that went far beyond the usual flirtation. How that was even possible, he had no idea. And it didn’t really matter, he decided, as he unlocked the shop door. He was too old for her, and they’d probably never see each other again. _“It’s not normally her job to come and get lunch.”_

“So what are you trying to tell me?” he muttered.

“Sorry, what?”

John whirled around to see who’d responded. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the bell above the door announce a visitor. “Phineas!” he said, grinning.

“Have you started talking to yourself?” Phineas asked, lifting the plastic bag he’d brought. More food. “I thought we could share lunch.”

“I’ve just picked up something.” John smiled apologetically and raised his own bag.

“We’ll manage. Slow day, eh?” Phineas said, limping towards the office where he knew he’d find some cutlery. If they left the door open, they’d be able to hear if anyone came in.

“I’ve read about two-hundred pages, so yes,” John said, following him.

Phineas hung his cane from the doorknob; the small office space was difficult to negotiate with it. He found the cutlery in the drawer and handed John a fork as he sat down in the chair beside the desk and unpacked a clear plastic box containing some sort of pasta. Phineas always got them pasta.

“But still loving it?” Phineas asked, surveying the cluttered desk. On top of all the paperwork sat a tray with the tools and spare parts that John needed to repair the toys the young readers brought him. The tray was Naoko’s idea; she’d been annoyed by the constant clutter on the desk when she needed to sit down there to work. And he needed some room to repair the toys; he couldn’t take them home with him. Naoko had suggested that on the fourth day or so of his hogging the space, but he’d been firm, and the next day the tray had materialised. It was the biggest one she’d been able to find.

“Yup,” he said, picking up the tray to put it on the floor beside him so he could eat.

Phineas smiled his sad little smile at him. By now, this smile had become indulgent, but there had been a time when it was sympathetic, exasperated, disappointed, and, finally, accepting. The Bookshop was a fresh start, in a way. His stay here was limited to the duration of Jamie Ashcroft’s absence, and neither of them expected that that would exceed the time he’d taken off from his position at the British Museum.

“You look a bit absent-minded,” Phineas said. “Is this a bad day?”

John looked at him thoughtfully. He should feel guilty, but he didn’t. “No, it’s not a bad day at all.”

“But?”

John sighed.

“Come on, something happened,” Phineas insisted.

“Am I that easy to read?”

“No, I just know you that well,” Phineas said, and John supposed that he was right. Although he’d only known Phineas for about five minutes, he had a feeling that the other man really understood him. It was baffling because after Nelly no one had managed to do that. He’d thought that she unique. And then this rather cocky restorer had come along and seen at once what needed fixing. Only he was a human being, and it wasn’t so easy with those.

“It’s nothing, really. Just a girl I saw at Maggie’s,” John said. There, it was off his chest and he felt better. He tucked into his food. The molten cheese had started to congeal and lost its shine. 

“A girl.”

“A _girl_ girl, Phin. I’m old enough to be her father.” He bit his lip. He thought of the creme egg in his pocket. He should never have accepted it.

Phineas’s eyes narrowed. “How old?”

“I don’t know. Eighteen? Nineteen?”

Phineas exhaled. “What happened?”

John told him.

“She didn’t even look twice at me. I’ll just have to… get her out of my mind. I’m being stupid. She was just kind,” he said. He hadn’t mentioned the egg in his coat pocket.

“But she’s shaken you more than any other woman,” Phineas pointed out.

“Cuppa?” John asked, standing. Why did everyone insist he was _shaken_ by her?

As he brushed past Phineas to fill the kettle and get the tea things ready, he pushed his diary off the desk. Phineas shooed him on and bent over in his chair to pick it up. As he did so, the business card must have fallen from between the pages. When John turned to him, Phineas was studying it with a frown.

“ _I.M. Foreman, Scrap Merchant, 76 Totter’s Lane,_ ” Phineas read, his eyebrows raising folds on his forehead. “What’s that for?” He held up the blue business card with the white script.

“You know, I have no idea,” John said, plucking from between Phineas’s fingers where he held it like a cigarette. He really had no idea, but the fact that he kept it in his journal meant that it was important to him in some way. Even if he had no idea why he had it. His use for scrap merchants was rather limited.

“Are you making progress with your search?” Phineas asked.

“No, not really.”

Phineas held up the diary for him. “Is this… are you trying to write down what you remember about Nell and the children?”

John took a deep breath. That had been the original purpose for keeping the journal. But now it held all these fantastic dreams and he didn’t want Phineas to know about them. Not yet, anyway. Despite their close friendship, it didn’t feel right yet. “Trying, yes.”

“Ah,” Phineas said, snapping his mouth shut. John was glad he didn’t press him any further. Phineas understood that side of him too.

The kettle clicked off and John took the journal from him to return the card to the flap at the front to keep it safe. Then he stowed the journal in the pocket of his coat.


	2. Chapter 2

“You didn’t bring enough creme eggs,” Aggie from the lingerie department complained.

“Thanks, Rose, for going out in this weather to fetch lunch. You can have my egg,” Rose said, tilting her head sideways to invite the tall girl to kiss her cheek. Aggie laughed her tinkling laugh and obliged.

“What took you so long anyway?” asked Josh. He grabbed two of the bags to check what was in them, distributing them accordingly.

Rose sighed, pulling the elastic from her sodden hair. If she was lucky, it would have dried by the time lunch break was over. Not that there was much left of it now. “The sandwich shop was rather busy. And then one of those infernal paper bags tore because it was soaked through. A bloke helped me gather my stuff and gave me a plastic bag. I gave him one of the eggs as thanks for his help,” she explained, digging around in the bag in question to make sure that she had, indeed, everything.

“A bloke?” Aggie asked.

Rose sighed. “He was old enough to be my father.”

“Oh,” Josh made, reaching for two more sandwiches.

“I don’t know what makes my love life, or lack of it, so interesting,” Rose muttered, trying to push the box of tampons behind the packages of tights; there was really no need to advertise her choice of feminine hygiene products to all and sundry.

“Choosing the right one for you is important,” Aggie insisted. She’d found her sandwich and unwrapped it hastily. Time was really running out now.

“Maybe I don’t want a relationship,” Rose suggested.

Josh pretended to give this some thought but opted for a decisive “No” in the end.

“I’m done with men. Jimmy and Mickey were enough. It’s time I found out who I am before some new bloke tries to make me do his bidding,” Rose said bitterly. It was true. She’d been so young when she met Jimmy, and she’d done everything she could to try to please him. Nothing but the fact that he fancied her mattered, not even her A-levels. Not even the fact that he had a mean streak and soon started abusing her verbally when she refused to dress up like a tart for him. Then he’d run off with her money and that was that.

Mickey, in turn, had been his complete opposite, and it had taken her a while to realise that he wanted someone to mother-hen him, which didn’t really suit her either. Besides, Mickey was her oldest friend, and eventually they’d both agreed that they were better as friends than as lovers, and they’d broken it off. That had been just before Christmas. 

Now she just wanted to figure out who she was and try to get her life back in order. Working as a shopgirl, even at posh Henrik’s with all its benefits, wasn’t what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. What she wanted to do was take her A-levels and get out of life on the estate. That was her big secret. Most of the people on the estate were complacent about their lives, even if their lives were hard, filled with arguments and too much month left at the end of the money. But the careers consultant at her school had suggested a special programme that would allow her to return to class to take her A-levels. That meant the time she had left at Henrik’s would, hopefully, be less than six more months. Most of the money she made went into a special account Grandma Prentice had suggested she set up, to make sure that it really went into her education. Mum had agreed, and after calculating what she needed to contribute to the household, she was surprised at how much money she could put into that account. She suspected that Mum had been generous, so she sneaked some notes into the tin where her mum kept the cash.

A boyfriend wasn’t part of the plan for the next two and a half years. She wanted to work hard, sit her A-levels in English, French and Art and maybe study Literature or Art History at uni. She was excited by books and trips to the art galleries of London, and she could imagine working in one. If all else failed, she could become a teacher and help kids like her make their way in life. 

There really was no room for a boyfriend, least of all one who’d complicate matters further by being twice her age. The bloke at the sandwich shop had been nice, but she’d seen him retreat into himself when she’d said, _“For your kid then,”_ as she’d held out the creme egg, the very egg that was now missing. Naturally, she’d managed to put her foot right in it. The man had taken the egg anyway. Which, she supposed, was either a good sign or simply spoke for his good manners.

“What did he look like?” Josh asked.

“What’s it matter?” Rose sighed, pouring hot water over the tea bag in the extra large mug she’d brought from home. The shop mugs were ridiculously small for her taste.

“Nothing, I suppose,” Josh said, shrugging. “Just curious.”

“I don’t think he plays for your team,” Rose said.

“What makes you say that?”

“I told him to keep the creme egg for his kid, and he kinda looked… upset,” she said, feeling ashamed all of a sudden. She’d not taken the time to apologise. “Like someone who’s lost his kid.”

“Oh,” Aggie said, “how terrible. How do you know?”

“I don’t,” she said. “It’s just a feeling. A look he gave me, right?” She couldn’t quite explain it herself, but the feeling was powerful and it felt right somehow.

“But you don’t remember what he looked like?” Josh pressed.

“Bloody hell, Josh!” she cried in exasperation, dropping the tea bag onto the wrapper of her sandwich with a wet thump. Drops of tea sprayed everything in the vicinity with brown spots of varying sizes. “He wasn’t that attractive, right? He was all ears and nose. His eyes were a startling blue, though, and he had a nice smile.”

“Hair?”

 _Nothing I could bury my hands in when—_ blushing, she stopped that train of thought. “Close cropped,” she said. It was amazing how much she remembered after all. And how she felt about it. “He wasn’t one of the city boys either. More academic-like.” _And he is a regular at the sandwich shop._

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Josh said.

“All ears and nose,” Aggie reminded him.

“On second thought,” Josh amended his verdict.

Rose laughed. “It doesn’t matter, right? I’m not looking for anyone and he’s too old for me in the first place. So stop it, you two.”

“Stop what?” Lucy asked. She worked in haberdashery and was only just joining them for her lunch break.

“Nothing,” Rose sighed and finally bit into her sandwich.

-:-

But she couldn’t stop thinking about the bloke. She was fine for the rest of the day because she was able to keep busy, but as soon as she slumped into a seat on the bus, her thoughts returned to him. Something about him had struck her, but their encounter had not lasted long enough to tell her what. She was probably imagining it anyway. And then there was the fact that she and Mickey had ended things only a short time ago. 

She was a bit worried because Mickey hadn’t been in touch for a while and only time would tell if they had damaged their life-long friendship beyond repair. They should never have become romantically entangled with each other. That was a mistake she may well hate herself for forever. 

So whoever came next had to subject himself to rigorous scrutiny if he wanted to be more than just a rebound. In her heart of hearts she knew this wasn’t going to happen. 2005 was the year in which she was going to turn her life around. And if the drunk she’d met just after the fireworks was to be given even the tiniest amount of credit, it was going to be a good year. It was definitely going to be _her_ year.

Trying to distract herself from further thoughts of the Bloke, she pulled her slightly tattered copy of The Lovely Bones out of her bag.

_When had she started to refer to the Bloke with a capital B?_

No matter how hard she tried to concentrate, she had to read the first paragraph four times and still had no idea what it said. With an exasperated sigh she returned the bookmark to its spot and closed the book, using it as an anchor on top of her bag as she stared out of the window. She didn’t bother wiping the condensation off the vibrating pane; the colourful lights in the streets were prettier when they were smudged by the fog inside and the rain-splattered pane outside, kind of like her daydreams. 

“It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again,” she muttered. True, he was a regular at the sandwich shop, but she wasn’t going back there any time soon. Being there today had been sheer coincidence, an unlucky combination of circumstances that were clearly out of her control. Usually, one of the girls or boys on work experience fetched lunch for everyone. There was a whole group of them, Rose included, who didn’t think too highly of the cafeteria food. They would eat there on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, when the food was pretty good. But the chef on the other days must be suffering from a dyslexic palate; his meals always tasted bland and were beyond saving.

Today had been the first time she’d picked up their order of sarnies from the shop. She’d been a little underwhelmed by the simplicity of the place. Rose snorted. She was becoming a snob. The shop looked a lot like the sandwich shops lining the high street off the Powell Estate. Only this one was that much cleaner and looked deliberately retro, but not too posh. 

The Bloke knew the owner well enough to know her name, Maggie, and she in turn knew him well enough to know exactly what he wanted from her after his paper bag comment. That had been funny in a subtle way.

Subtle, that was certainly one adjective that suited him. And sad. His eyes were intense, filled with more than sadness. Grief was a better word. Helplessness, with a touch of being lost.

It was an odd combination, the grief-struck look and his academic demeanour. The academic types usually looked either scatter-brained or cocky, but not… sad like the Bloke.

Rose found her _A to Z_ and checked the surroundings of the sandwich shop. There was no hospital, so he wasn’t a doctor. A small clinic, maybe. Nor was there a university, and the British Museum was too far away for a quick trip during lunch break. So probably not some kind of professor either.

“Why am I _bothering_?” she muttered, snapping the _A to Z_ shut. “I’m not going to see him again.” _Besides, I gave him a creme egg, for his… kid._ He’d replied briefly, and it was clear that she’d put her foot in it properly. He must have lost a child. _Well done, Rose Tyler._

Rose nearly missed her stop, and when she finally hopped off the bus the cold evening air slapped her back to reality. Her other bus arrived promptly, and when she found an empty seat on the top level, she managed to take in more of _The Lovely Bones._

-:-

“There you are, sweetheart,” Mum called from the kitchen when she heard her open and close the front door. “Tea will be ready in a few. Go wash your hands and then you can set the table!”

Rose sighed as she took off her denim jacket and hoodie and tossed them onto the stool in her room. The pile of clothing that had accumulated there in the past few days was close to toppling, but for the moment she didn’t care. Mum meant well, and it was really great to come home to a cooked meal, but she didn’t like being treated like a child. She was happy to help out and really didn’t need to be reminded. Lately, Mum’s hairdressing business had picked up, since one of the salons on the high street had been taken over by one of the impossible chains that were opening all over the place. Quite a few women who didn’t like the anonymity of the place at all. They wanted a chat and a cuppa along with a cut. Mum provided all that and more.

Things were looking up for them, giving them each a reason to feel better about their future. Mum even had a steady, darling boyfriend. Rose was not at all jealous of her. Mum had been by herself for long enough and she deserved some happiness with Howard. He was a fruit vendor, and ever since they’d been together, they’d had more fresh fruit and vegetables than ever before. Rose liked him, although, of course, he was nothing at all like her father with his mad schemes. She wasn’t looking for a new father; what mattered to her was that Mum was happy.

Rose put the plastic bag with her lunchtime shopping on her bed before she nipped to the bathroom for a quick wash.

“It’s horrid out,” Mum said, peeping into the hall with a tea towel in her hands.

“Yeah, I’m glad I’m home,” Rose replied.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Yeah, it was all right. The new collection has come in,” Rose said. They’d spent most of the day discreetly putting up the new clothes and removing the older models.

“Anything nice this season?”

“Oh, you know,” Rose said noncommittally. Most of the clothes at _Henrik’s_ were nice, but unfortunately out of their financial comfort zone, even if she used her employee’s discount.

Rose stepped into the lounge to clear the day’s clutter off the table so she could get the plates and cutlery out. “Is Howard coming tonight?”

“I certainly hope so,” Mum said with a saucy tone.

“Too much info, Mum!” Rose cried in exasperation. She’d hoped for a quiet night in. She was knackered and she didn’t much fancy falling asleep with her headphones on.

“We’re going to Howard’s after tea, sweetheart. Pub first, of course,” Mum said.

Rose smiled.

“Is that all right? I really don’t like the idea of you being all by yourself all evening,” Mum continued as the microwave dinged and she got the bowl of peas out.

“Yeah, fine.”

“You and all that reading,” Mum sighed. “I’m proud of you, don’t get me wrong, but you’re so young, you should have some fun. Go out and meet someone.”

It was the same conversation they’d had the night before and a few nights before that. “Mum! I don’t want a boyfriend. I’ve had enough of them. You always complained about Jimmy messing my life up, so here I am getting it back on track and you’re still moaning,” Rose said, pushing past her to get the plates out of the cupboard.

She was spared further discussion of the topic by the doorbell. Putting down the plates on the table in the lounge she told her mum that she’d get the door.

It was Howard with a bag of fruit and a basket of early strawberries. “Hello, Rose,” he said, smiling his cheerful smile.

“Hey, Howard,” she said, stepping aside to let him enter.

“I saw Mickey on my way over. Looks a bit lost, he does.”

 _So much for that discussion being over._ “We weren’t right for each other,” she said dejectedly, like she had so many times before. Why wouldn’t they understand that she and Mickey were a big mistake?

Howard bumped her shoulder gently with his. “We’re just worried about you, is all.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, managing a smile. “I’m fine, though. Really.”

The Bloke popped up unbidden in her mind. He was the last man she ought to be thinking of. Mum would have kittens if she introduced him as her boyfriend. Despite herself, Rose giggled at the very idea, and followed Howard into the lounge. She stopped there, however, to set the table and to give them some privacy. Her cheerfulness faded when she heard the sound of a rather wet kiss. “Eww,” she muttered under her breath. Her mother’s love life really was too much info.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Miss Carline_ is one of my classroom characters. This year's yr 6 (second year English students) came up with the _Living Toasters_. When I get round to writing that story, I'll post it here. The boy in the ManU t-shirt represents my yr 6 kids.

5 March 2005

Her dreams that night were filled with images of the Bloke helping her with the torn bags, and him breaking out in tears over the creme egg, or pushing the egg rudely back at her. In some scenes he looked like a caricature with his large ears and nose enhanced, sometimes all she saw was the blue of his eyes, or the slightly manic, mechanical smile. But the weirdest thing was that at one point his face changed entirely; what did not change was the sadness in the now brown eyes and the slightly artificial feel of his smile. His painfully short hair had grown out into a Potteresque mess. Before she had a chance to memorise the face, it changed into that of an old man with a scraggly grey beard and a weariness in his eyes that outweighed his sadness. She didn’t recognise this face either. And then he was the Bloke with his sad, mask-like grin; he seemed like a shadow of his former self.

When she woke to the sound of her alarm she felt hungover despite the fact that she’d had only one glass of cider with tea the previous night. The flat itself was quiet, but she could hear the signs of life from the other flats in the building. The woman above was making flour in a contraption that, by the sound of it, must look like the mill stones she’d seen at the museum. The bloke next door had recently won a fancy coffee maker more expensive than a flat screen telly, and it, too, was grinding; preparing the beans before it released the coffee into the cup with a hiss that would make a dragon proud. Somewhere in the distance, a baby was crying. Thankfully, there were no domestics this early in the morning.

There was no sound of rain; in fact, the light coming in through her curtains was so bright that she could tell that it was a gorgeous day. Spring was finally here, and about time too. The New Year’s Day snow had lasted for a week, and it had returned in the middle of February, shutting down public transport for two days. It had taken her two hours to get to _Henrik’s_.

Glad to have the morning to herself, she made a cuppa and then drew a bath. Her shift at _Henrik’s_ didn’t start until two, but she was going to go in early so she could pop into the bookshop before; she’d spotted it on her way to and from the sandwich shop, and she’d made a mental note to explore it the first chance she got. Most of her books came from the local library, which wasn’t always up to date because of funding issues, or from the used books stalls on market day. It couldn’t hurt to indulge in a few new books of her own, and she could always sell them if she didn’t like them. But for once, she wanted to own a book that didn’t smell of someone’s fags or have stains from God knows what. She wanted to take in the pure scent of a new book and see it wear as she read it.

By the time she locked the flat door behind her, the feeling of being hungover had passed. She blamed it on the weird imagery of her dreams, which was only starting to fade. The more unpleasant dreams tended to stay with her the entire day, proving distracting at the worst possible moments.

She tried to read again once she got on the bus, but like yesterday she was distracted by thoughts of the Bloke that were now accompanied by the other two faces from her dream. To her surprise, the faces were still very clear in her mind’s eye, and she thought about stopping into the stationery department at _Henrik’s_ to pick up a sketch pad and a pencil. She didn’t really need them; she had plenty of art supplies at the bottom of her wardrobe. But she was afraid that the faces would fade unless she captured the faces on paper as soon as possible. Besides, it was high time she practised her skills. She’d been reluctant to dig out her pencils because she feared that years of neglect had killed her skill. Which was rubbish, of course, but the fear persisted anyway.

What amazed her more, however, was why she felt the urge to sketch the faces from her dream in the first place. They’d been compelling, true, but underlying it all was a feeling that this might be more important. She just didn’t know why. 

Eventually, she stood outside the bookshop. The whole street looked different in the early spring sun, but it had also to do with the fact that yesterday she’d hurried along it with her shoulders hunched against the rain. She’d stopped briefly in front to glance in the shop windows before hurrying on.

Today, a chalkboard ad sign was standing outside the shop inviting children to join story time; today’s reading would be performed by John: a chapter of _The Wind in the Willows_. A perfect choice, considering the warm day.

Rose laughed to herself when she read the shop’s name: _The Bookshop_. And underneath, in smaller lettering: _For Children of Any Age_. It was an old-fashioned shop front, the warm brown wood with gold lettering to fit in with the other shops around it. “Not fair,” she mumbled when she saw the shoe shop on the opposite side of the street. Making her choose between books and shoes was evil, even though she knew she didn’t have the kind of money to buy her a pair of shoes in that shop.

The sign in the door of _The Bookshop_ read: _Open_. And underneath, in parentheses, _Adults Welcome_. “Thank you kindly,” she said, pushing the door open. A bell announced her arrival with a gentle tinkling sound, but it was drowned out by the murmur of patrons. The shop was rather busy, mostly with children who had brought their parents. No doubt the majority were there for story time. Sadly, the reading was set for two, when her shift started. Maybe she’d be lucky another day.

It was love at first sight.

From the outside, she hadn’t noticed that she shop had two levels; the upper one was set back from the shop front, like a balcony and it benefitted from the light streaming in through the top halves of the windows. The space in front of the banister was taken up by waist-high shelving and a massive old leather sofa. The top level could be reached via a staircase whose cupboard space had been converted into a reading nook. Plushies of characters from books sat on the shelves, and cushions made the space cozy. A couple of children had withdrawn there to browse the books they’d chosen. 

Books of all shapes and sizes were displayed on tables and on top of the low shelves, within easy reach of the younger patrons. The bookcases lining the walls were tall, however, and the books on top could only be reached via a small ladder. The walls above the shelving were covered with framed promotional posters for children’s books.

“Can I help you?” a petite Japanese woman asked. The name tag on her red cardigan identified her as Naoko.

“I just wandered in,” Rose said.

“Feel free to look around,” Naoko offered with an inviting gesture. “If there’s anything John or I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks,” Rose said, her gaze sweeping rows upon rows of colourful spines. Naoko then withdrew discreetly to tend to a boy and his grandmother.

Even though she always felt at home as soon as she entered a library or bookshop for the first time, she also needed time to get her bearings before she ventured further in. She liked to take a bit of time to get a sense of where things were.

A small fist curled into her scarf and tugged at it to get her attention. “Excuse me?” the small voice asked.

Rose looked down at the little girl. She was still clutching her scarf, and in her other hand she held a light grey plastic horse. Rose crouched. “Hello,” she said, smiling. The little girl let go of her scarf.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” the girl said. She had a head of dark, unruly curls and huge blue eyes.

“That’s because this is my first time here.”

“Oh,” the girl said, withdrawing slightly.

“What do you need help with, sweetheart?” Rose asked. “I might be able to help anyway.” Particularly if it was just about getting a book down for her.

“I’m looking for John. Have you seen him?”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”

The little girl pursed her lips. “It’s just… It’s about Arthur.”

“Who’s Arthur?”

The girl held out the light grey plastic horse. “This is Arthur.”

Rose took the toy from her small hand and examined it. It looked perfectly normal to her; going by the scuffed look, the peeling colour, it was clearly a favourite. “He looks great.”

“Yeah, he looks great _now_ ,” the girl said. Then she leaned in conspiratorially. “But last night he ran over my rug and hid underneath my bedside table.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “He didn’t!” She didn’t know how else to react. The child either had a very vivid imagination, or she had a serious mental disorder.

The girl nodded. “But don’t tell Mum. She says I’m bonkers.”

“My lips are sealed. So who’s John?”

“I am,” a voice said.

Rose looked up and found the Bloke towering over them. He crouched beside them with a wide smile. “Hello,” he said cheerfully. “Again.”

He remembered her.

“Hi,” was all she was able to get out.

“So, Sophie, what’s the problem with Arthur here?” John gently took the horse from between Rose’s fingers and examined the toy horse. Rose looked at him. He must have been standing there long enough to learn Arthur’s name, but Sophie had never told her what she was called. 

Sophie told him the same story she’d told her.

“Did you scare him?” John asked, his forehead deeply furrowed as he seriously considered Sophie’s words.

“No!” Sophie giggled. “He was sleeping on my play mat, you know, and suddenly he climbed to his feet, shook his mane and started to run.”

“Was he alone? On the play mat?”

“Sheila was with him, but she didn’t move _at all_ ,” Sophie said, emphasising her last words with a little wave.

“Hmm, that’s strange. He looks fine to me, you know. Apart from the bits where the colour is coming off his coat,” John said.

Rose watched in amazement. John was really taking Sophie seriously. There was nothing about his tone or look that indicated he was just indulging her. Or maybe he was just a fine actor. If he was story-time John, he was probably rather good at acting out what he was reading. He was also very good at making an upset child comfortable. She remembered her faux pas from the day before and ducked her head.

“How did you get him out from underneath your bedside table?”

“I just lay on my tummy and got him out.”

“He didn’t kick or bite you, did he?” John asked.

Sophie shook her curls. “No, he’d gone still by then. He looks normal now, John, but I’m not lying to you.”

“And I believe you, darling,” John said.

“Can you fix him?”

“Fix him?”

“Yeah, you know…”

“I can’t make him come alive, if that’s what you mean,” John said. “Does he scare you?”

Sophie nodded.

“You can leave him here at the shop if you want. I’ll look after him.”

“But…” Despite everything Sophie seemed reluctant to leave Arthur here.

“Why don’t you put him in a box?” Rose suggested. “Build him a stable, or a fence around the play mat, so he can’t run off when he comes alive again?” She bit her lip. Had she actually said that?

John looked at her in surprise. Then he looked back at Sophie. “You know, that is a very good idea. I’m sure that staying here at the shop would scare him. If he comes alive.”

Sophie still seemed reluctant.

John smiled winningly at her. “A shoe box would be great. That way, he can’t jump over the fence.”

Sophie shrugged and took Arthur as John returned him to her. “Okay.”

“You tell me when he does that again, eh?” John said. “Naughty boy, Arthur.”

Sophie frowned. “Very naughty.”

Her mother found her then and collected her. Sophie waved at the two of them as her mum took her by the hand.

“That was… weird,” Rose said, still crouched on the floor.

John regarded her carefully. “She’s not mad.”

Rose blushed. “I didn’t—“

His eyebrows knitted together and Rose wanted to look away from his intense gaze, but found his blue eyes too arresting. “No, you didn’t,” he said, brightening. “I’ve heard stories like this before.”

“What?”

John jumped to his feet and offered her his hand to help her up. “I’ve heard that story from other kids. Only it was Lego or an action figure. Those kids were thrilled, however. I mean, what kid doesn’t dream of his toys coming alive?”

“Like in _Toy Story_?”

“Sorta, yeah. Kinda.”

“Couldn’t they… have made it up? Some kids have very vivid imaginations, particularly if they read a lot. That’s why they come here, right? Or do you sell toys as well?”

“Only a few,” he said. He folded his arms in front of his chest.

“But they ask you for help. She asked you to fix the horse.”

He looked away, scanning the people milling about between the shelves. “Yeah, that’s because I fix some of their toys.”

Rose chuckled.

“What?”

She had to admit that he looked adorable with his slightly offended expression. “You really fix toys? Here?”

He waved in the general direction of what she assumed was the office. “Yeah, I do. It’s not a business or anything, but if they come in with a wheel that’s come off or Teddy’s eye is missing I do whatever I can. Some of them are devastated by the damage. I’m sure you were too, as a child.”

Rose remembered the time when her teddy’s ear had come off. A neighbour had stitched it back, but her teddy had never been the same after. The stitching wasn’t neatly done, and the ear was rather lopsided. “Yeah.”

John grinned. “See.”

“I’m sorry about yesterday. The creme egg. You were so kind and I had no idea,” she said. Again, the words had left her mouth before she’d had a chance to think twice about them. What was the matter with her?

“Don’t worry. You couldn’t have known,” he said neutrally.

Naoko joined them with a book to ask John a question. He turned his full attention to her, and Rose chose that moment to escape the awkward situation. Her first instinct was to leave the shop altogether, but she was in no mood to clock in early at _Henrik’s_. Besides, she’d come here to browse and buy some books.

She wandered towards the back of the shop, where the books for the older children were. Her eyes roamed over the spines but couldn’t find a place to rest. Nothing seemed able to attract her attention, much less capture her imagination, but the Bloke’s name and the fact that he fixed toys. And sold books.

He was a John now, and he had been as kind and ready to help to Sophie, whom he knew, as he’d been with her, whom he didn’t know. And she’d even found herself taking Sophie’s concerns about Arthur the horse just as seriously. There was something about John that intrigued her, and now it went well beyond the sadness in his eyes.

Turning away from her daydreaming, she found herself facing a display table promoting the next _Miss Carline_ book. The adventures of the young teacher witch hadn’t captured the nation in quite the same way as Harry Potter had, but they seemed to be a favourite of John’s; they certainly got more attention than the new Potter book. Rose felt a bit sorry that everything should be eclipsed by the boy wizard. So far, she hadn’t read any of the _Miss Carline_ books, but there was a slim volume published for this year’s World Book Day, which was displayed on the table. Curious, she picked one of the copies up. It was called _Living Toasters_.

Rose frowned.

“It’s about dragons,” a boy in a ManU t-shirt informed her. “It’s funny, but you should really start with the first book.”

“Will I be able to follow this story if I don’t?”

The boy shrugged. “I suppose so. But it won’t be nearly as fun.”

“Well, thanks,” Rose smiled at him. “So you’re quite the book fan. Not just ManU.”

He grinned and blushed. “There’s an artwork competition for the new book,” he informed her, picking up one of the photocopied flyers. “Unfortunately, I’m not any good at drawing.”

“Ah, I don’t believe that,” Rose protested.

“Are you?”

Rose shrugged. “I should practise more, for school. I’m taking my A-levels.”

The boy snorted. “Then you must take part.” He thrust the flyer at her. Perplexed, she accepted it.

“I don’t know the books,” she protested.

“So? Read them and draw something. The best pictures will go up in here, and you can win a voucher,” he said.

Rose frowned. “Do you work here?”

The boy went even redder. “No. But John helped me with something, and I… I feel I owe him.” He looked around nervously. “But don’t tell him, yeah? He doesn’t accept thanks easily.”

Rose chuckled. “Tell me about it.”

“Have you… has he helped you too?”

“With a torn bag, yes. I’m a little old for Legos or action figures.”

The boy pursed his lips and nodded. “Well, just don’t tell him, yeah?”

“My lips are sealed. But you must promise to at least give it a try. I’m sure you aren't nearly as bad at drawing as you think.” She gave him one of the flyers, which he took from her like a shy animal before he left.

“So, are you going to submit your artwork?” John asked. He’d sneaked up on her. Again.

“Unless adults are eligible to enter,” she said, brushing back a lock of her hair. “It hardly seems fair.”

“So you’re good at drawing?” he asked, his eyebrows pushing his forehead up into folds.

“Not as good as I used to be.”

“Tell you what, er?”

“Rose.”

“Tell you what, Rose. Draw something for me. If you really want to thank me. Although I think it’s really worth much more than that plastic bag.”

Now it was her turn to colour. “No, please. I’d love to. I still feel bad about the egg.”

He grinned madly at her.

“Anything in particular?” she asked, tucking her tongue into the corner of her lips.

He stared at her and it took him a moment to come up with something. “No.”

She nodded and held up the slim volume. It seemed inappropriate to leave with such a small purchase, but she was unable to choose any other book this afternoon.

“Rose?” John said as she smiled and turned to leave.

“Yeah?”

“You will draw me something though? Or at least come back. If we haven’t scared you off with our dislike for chocolate eggs and living toys.”

Rose smiled. “You haven’t. And I will. I just… I’ve got to go. Job’s waiting.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, grinning broadly.


	4. Chapter 4

For the half-hour it took to read several passages from _The Wind in the Willows_ John managed not to think about Rose and the way she had interacted with Sophie and Paul earlier. Granted, at first she’d seemed dubious, and then indulging, and, eventually, genuinely interested. Above all, she’d taken them seriously. She had not only won their hearts, but his too.

He couldn’t believe himself.

He’d finally had the courage to break away from his old life, even if only for a few weeks, and she wandered in and rocked his safe little world to its very foundation. Of course he’d always been aware that it was a world built upon pillars of sand. One day, it would come to an end, but he’d always assumed that the end would be determined by Jamie’s return, rather than the crumbling of his principles. 

He had created this life with no thought of falling in love. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A long-term project at the museum had come to an end, while at the same time, Jamie had found himself in need of someone to take care of his shop. Naoko didn’t work full-time, and it was impossible for her to do so for the foreseeable future. Jamie had told him about his dilemma, and after an appropriate period of protesting had agreed to watch over the shop for as long as he needed.

Many of the kids, and their parents, knew him because they had all explored the shop together. But to others he was just a poor substitute for Jamie. The odd single mum who tried to chat him up soon found herself discouraged at the prospect of a long and hard courtship.

Not so Rose.

John retreated to the safety of the small office for a few moments. He’d meant to put the kettle on anyway, because the air in the shop was dry and he was parched after the reading. But mostly he needed a few minutes alone to sort through his feelings. Rose had certainly not flirted with him. She’d shown interest in what he did as a mender of toys, yes, but that was a natural curiosity; it didn’t necessarily imply any romantic interest. And why would she be interested in him? He wasn’t much to look at; he’d never understood what Nell had ever seen in him. He was sure that all Rose wanted was to thank him for his help, however clumsily she went about it.

There was nothing more to it.

Besides, he was sure that she’d wandered into the shop by chance. Hence the clumsy apology.

He filled the kettle and checked for messages on the answering machine and computer. There were no messages, so he busied himself getting the tea things ready. Usually, there was a slow half hour or so after the last of the audience had left that gave them time to regroup and clean up the midday mess.

A knock on the door jolted him out of his reverie, and he opened it. Phineas had arrived with three paper cups of designer coffee and a bag of pastries. 

“Naoko doesn’t drink coffee.”

“I’ve already delivered a tall chai. This is for my friend,” Phineas said, stepping aside so John could see the petite woman standing behind him. She was attractive, in her mid-fifties, and wore a friendly smile to go with her professional demeanour. “John, this is Sarah Jane Smith. She’s a journalist. Sarah Jane, this is John Smith.”

She blinked as a brief darkness clouded her mind. John frowned. Clearly, his name had done that. Sarah held out her hand for him to shake. “I used to have a friend who sometimes went by that name.”

“It’s a very common name,” John replied, stowing away her unusual use of the adverb of frequency for later. What did she mean, he _sometimes went by that name?_

“He was a very uncommon man,” she replied. “I’m writing an article on independent bookshops for _The Sunday Times_ , and Phineas suggested your shop.”

“Oh, it’s not my shop. I’m just looking after it for the owner, Jamie Ashcroft. He had to go away for a while,” John said, smiling and accepting the paper cup Phineas was handing to him.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to answer all my questions,” Sarah Jane said confidently. “Unless you’d like to refer me to Mr Ashcroft?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” John said, sipping the hot beverage carefully. He’d burned his tongue in his eagerness more than once. “We have a sofa upstairs; it’s more comfortable than the office.”

“I was hoping to have a look round first, if you don’t mind,” Sarah Jane said, her gaze travelling past him to the floor where he’d put the tray filled with toy parts and tools. “You repair toys?”

“Ah, yes. My young customers bring them to me in an emergency.”

“Well, what kind of damage are we talking about?”

John frowned. “You’re rather… curious.”

“I might have mentioned your little toy A&E, John,” Phineas said.

“Ah.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I only repair them when asked directly and if I feel confident that I can actually mend what’s broken. Sometimes, if they’ve lived with the damage for a while, say a teddy bear missing an eye, but sometimes the new eye changes the bear’s personality and the kid doesn’t recognise him any more.”

Sarah Jane held his gaze evenly. For a moment he thought she was going to laugh at him, but her expression remained amiable. “That’s a lovely notion. There is nothing, of course, you could do to fix broken plastic toys?”

“I can use a bit of glue, but that’s about it.”

“Right,” she said, ducking her head. She accepted the coffee Phineas had been holding for her. “Well, I shall have a look around then. Is it okay if I take this with me?” She raised the cup.

“Be my guest. We’ll be in here if you need anything. Naoko will also be happy to help you,” he said.

“Thank you.” With another smile, she turned around and started to explore the shop.

“I’m sorry, John. I hope she hasn’t upset you.”

“No, just surprised. She asks odd questions, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“That she’s researching bookshops. So far, she’s not asked a single question about the shop.”

“Give her time, eh?” Phineas said, patting his upper arm. “So, how did the reading go?”

“It was packed, and the kids loved it.”

“Little Mole spring-cleaning his house, eh?” his friend asked; they usually discussed the choice of book for the next reading, and Phineas had told him the previous week that _The Wind in the Willows_ was one of his favourites. “I hope they liked it.”

“They loved it. We sold all but three copies on stock,” John grinned. The pleased expression on Phineas’ face was priceless. John could easily imagine the little boy he once was. “Any other recommendations?”

Phin reminded him of a proud bird, then, his chest seemed to puff up a bit. “Plenty more where that came from.”

“Why don’t you give me a list?”

They raised their paper cups in a toast.

A discreet knock on the door served as a reminder of their reality. Sarah Jane was smiling at them. 

“So what do you think?” Phineas asked with more pride than John felt. Of course, Phineas thought that he had given Sarah Jane the scoop of a lifetime. John had been reluctant at first. Too much publicity might do more harm than good, but Jamie had told him to go ahead. To John, _The Bookshop_ was more than a shop. It was a refuge from the world, which was why he’d offered to help out. Helping Jamie meant helping himself. He’d sought professional help, and while talking felt good, his amnesia prevented him from exorcising his demons properly. Both Phineas and his counsellor had protested against his sabbatical but in the end he had decided to go ahead. John hadn’t felt better than he had in a long time. 

“I wish I were a child again,” Sarah Jane replied. There was that glint in her eyes that many adults who came to the shop by themselves developed. They were the adults who needed to nourish their inner child but weren’t aware of it. “This is such a magical place. All indie bookshops are, but yours has something the others don’t. I can’t quite put my finger on what, though.”

John smiled. “Feel free to come back as often as you want. For joy, rather than job.” The shop did that. It often left the most articulate people struggling for words. Suddenly he was eager to see how Sarah Jane was going to describe her experience in the article. 

“I have a few questions.”

“Let’s go upstairs. We’ll be more comfortable there,” John said, gesturing towards the stairs. Sarah Jane preceded him. When Naoko met them halfway, he told her to take over the shop for him for the duration of the interview.

“I might ask you a question or two as well. If that’s all right,” Sarah Jane said.

“I’m not sure I’ll have anything to say that John won’t cover,” Naoko said with a shy smile. She was rescued by the shop door opening and a woman and her three grandchildren entering. For a moment John envied her. He couldn’t imagine what he could possibly tell the journalist about the shop.

She recorded the interview with a dictaphone; the questions were of a general nature that she probably asked all the shop owners. They covered the shop’s history, peculiarities, anecdotes and special events. When she asked him about the philosophy of _The Bookshop_ , John was finally able to fully engage in the conversation. Up till then he’d been professional, but he lacked the spark of passion.

“The sign says _Children of All Ages_. Does that include the big children, their parents?” Sarah Jane asked. Her eyes were glinting; apparently, she felt the same about her questions as he.

“Of course. I think we adults tend to forget about the wonders and joys of the world. It’s about innocence and discovery. If we lose the ability to be amazed and appreciate the beauty in the world, we miss out on a wonderful part of life,” he said. He felt himself slipping into his native Mancunian as he spoke, and it was liberating. Academia did not really encourage dialect, and so he’d hidden his for a long time.

“That’s wise,” Sarah Jane said. She was wearing an odd little smile, one that was hard to understand at first. The sadness outweighed the nostalgia, and for a blink she seemed miles away. “Do you have children, John?”

His own sadness chased away all thoughts of the shop. “No.”

“I’ve watched you with some of the children. You’re very good with them. Particularly those who come to have their toys repaired.”

She had crossed a line and wasn’t aware of it. For a few moments John struggled to figure out how to tell her without being too rude. She couldn’t possibly have known about the children. _Please don’t tell me I’d make a good father._ “It’s because I’ve never stopped being a child, deep down. And I remember how precious some of my toys were to me.”

“What is it that you fix?”

John frowned. She’d started asking about that earlier, but he wasn’t sure he could brush her off again. “The usual. Missing eyes, severed limbs, broken axles. That sort of thing.”

“What was the most unusual… damage you’ve seen?”

She knew about the living toys. She just had no way of asking about them directly. She was still gauging him. John looked away as if lost in thought. The living toys weren’t damaged, not beyond the usual wear of a beloved toy anyway. Chipped paint mostly. And they were all made of plastic: the action figure of a Roman Centurion. The Lego fireman. Arthur the horse. “A clown plushy with half his face torn to pieces by a dog,” he said eventually, turning back to her. He still had no idea why the plastic was important, but he had a feeling it was. He should have asked Sophie to leave Arthur in his care for a day or two.

Sarah Jane looked appalled for a moment but recovered quickly. Clearly, she was still after the living toys. He’d overheard quite a few of the children talk about the living toys. He could ask Rose if she'd seen or heard about living toys at _Henrik’s_. They had a toy department, and asking her was less awkward than wandering into _Hamleys_ and making a complete fool of himself.

He braced himself on one knee with his elbow. It would be interesting to see if Sarah Jane would directly ask about the living toys. There was no doubt that she knew about them. And while he was keen to find out more about them, he was also reluctant to talk to her. A journalist was just too high-profile, and he didn’t trust them. They’d disappointed him on several occasions when it came to reporting on events at the British Museum. Most of all, they had squandered his trust in them when they’d gone ahead and told the town his personal tragedy when they’d been under explicit orders not to. 

“So you haven’t… heard any strange stories. About experiences with toys?” she asked carefully.

He frowned. “No. What experiences do you mean?”

She gave him a searching glance, but he’d slipped on his most impenetrable mask, the one that had carried him through the funerals, and she withdrew. 

“There are all kinds of experiences with toys,” he said. “Mostly of them are deeply personal. The stories of our childhoods, our dreams and hopes. Of healing.” He shut his mouth. He was one to talk. To this day he hadn’t managed to unpack his children’s favourite toys.

“Well, that might be an article in its own right,” Sarah Jane said, switching off her dictaphone. “We’re done here. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me. It was a pleasure, John.”

Naoko spared them further awkwardness by asking for his help with something. They switched places on the sofa, and Sarah Jane started to ask her pretty generic questions about the shop. If she asked her about the living toys, she’d not get any answers. While Naoko knew about the toy A&E, as Phin had put it, she had no idea about the stranger cases.

Phineas was still in the office when John went to find him after he’d ordered several foreign language picture books for a young teacher. His coffee had gone cold; he’d forgotten to take it upstairs for the interview.

“Well?”

Phineas didn’t know about the living toys either. It seemed as if he and Rose were the only ones — apart from Sarah Jane — were aware of them. “It was all right. I can’t wait to read the article,” John said. “It’ll be interesting to see which other shops will make it in. If _The Bookshop_ does, at all. I’m afraid I’m not the most exciting of booksellers.”

Phineas sighed. “You should get out more. Meet people, live a little. Not recklessly, mind you. But enjoy what the city has to offer. By the way, I’m afraid invitations for the annual Spring Ball will be sent out soonish.”

John groaned. He’d hated the thing even back when Nell had somehow danced him through it, but he hadn’t been since… Well. He certainly wasn’t going this year either. Why would he be at a ball without Nell?

“I’m afraid this year you’ll have to go. It’s a massive event. Something to do with funding the next projects and acquiring new partners,” Phin said.

He sighed. It was a necessary evil. Clearly he was going to have to go. But it was going to be difficult.

Phin looked at his watch. “Goodness, is that the time. I’m sorry I’ll have to go. See you tomorrow in the park?”

They ran together on Sunday mornings, and sometimes he stayed at Phineas’ for breakfast after.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Becca would love to see you again. Also, she needs another guinea pig for her new cinnamon roll recipe. Apparently, I am biased.”

John laughed. He wanted to say something, but again he was prevented by Sarah jane’s knock on the open door. “I think I’ve got everything I need. Thank you again for taking the time to talk with me. I’ll send you the article for approval before I forward it to the editor.”

He was baffled. It was an article on book shops, probably several of them, advertisement basically, and he’d not expected such courtesy from her. “The email address is on the card,” he said, reaching for the little box on the counter. He gave her one of the business cards in it. She gave him hers in return. He looked at her askance.

“In case you need to get in touch before I send you the article.”

“Why would I need to?”

She smiled, giving her hair a little shake. The gesture seemed oddly familiar. “Oh, you never know. Good bye, John.”

He took her hand and shook it. Once she had left the shop, he turned to Phineas. “She’s a bit of an odd one. Where did you find her?”

“She’s a friend of Becca’s. And don’t ask me how they know each other. Right, I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.” With that, Phin left too.

John stood staring out of the window for a few minutes, watching the passersby in the street. It was still a gorgeous day, and judging by their clothes, it was warm too.

Sarah Jane knew something about the living toys. Of that he was sure, and he hated it that he couldn’t ask her. But he had another ally if he wanted. Rose had offered to help. All he had to do was wait until she returned to the shop and take her up on that offer.

 _If_ she returned. She didn’t have to give him a drawing. It was entirely up to her. And why would she? She’d thanked him and he had no business flirting with her.

She was so young. Too young.

And there was Nell. And the children. He couldn’t… he just couldn’t.

He’d have to conduct his experiment by himself. Of course he could always open his children’s toy box to experiment. But that didn’t feel right. He’d pop into _Hamleys_ on his way to the tube and buy some of the toys the children had said had come alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read a DVD commentary [here](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/183116.html), at my LJ. I call it wordamentary, a word Jasper Fforde coined.


	5. Chapter 5

Rose barely acknowledged the movement in the shadows when she left the department store through the side entrance. Although the street wasn’t as busy as Regent Street, she’d learned not to react to every thing she caught in her peripheral vision. London was just too busy for that; the city was never still and reacting to each bus passing, each shadow moving and each bird’s wing flapping would quickly make her jumpy. Her childhood on the Powell Estate had taught her what to pay attention to, so she was usually well aware of potential dangers.

Feeling for the book in her bag, she turned left towards the bus stop. She was going to read it on her way home. The boy in the ManU t-shirt had made her curious. Besides, the art contest had intrigued her. It was the prompt, she supposed, she’d been thinking about picking up her pencils and sketchpad again, but now she had a focus for it. The prospect of returning to school should have been enough, really, but sometimes she needed a more personal enticement. Even if she didn’t enter the contest, she’d still walk away from it as a winner. She’d have tapped into a long-neglected talent.

Also, she couldn’t quite shake John’s request for a drawing. That was probably more of a challenge than he’d intended it to be, and if she was being honest, it was more powerful than the contest too. The trouble was that she didn’t want things to get too far between them. Her education came first.

Rose shook her head. She was getting ahead of herself, already making more of the two encounters with the bookseller than was wise. He was too old for her. She needed to focus on her future. He was just being kind, and probably hadn’t been serious when he’d asked her for a drawing if she really wanted to make it up to him for the creme egg.

“Rose?”

She kept walking, pretending she hadn’t heard her name. Chances were the man hadn’t been talking to her anyway. This was a big place. Many Roses.

“Rose! Wait up!” 

Her heart began to thump more rapidly. The voice had been closer than she was comfortable with, and she was glad when she reached the bus stop. There were people there.

“Rose!”

She couldn’t ignore him any longer. When she turned around she was looking at the face of the man who was responsible for her determination to make a better future for herself now. Her mouth was so dry all of a sudden that no words would glide from it. She stared at him.

Jimmy Stone. He’d grown up. In a disturbingly good way. He sported stubble that made him look older, and he’d grown his hair. It was long enough to be styled lightly, with the barest amount of product. His eyes, however, were a colder than she remembered and there was a hardness to them too. He was smiling at her. There was a hint of nervousness in the corners of his mouth. His armour of hipster clothing could only go so far to protect him. And he had good reason to be nervous.

“What are you doing here?” she managed to say, and to her amazement it didn’t come out as a squeak. In fact, she sounded surprisingly confident.

“Jacks told me I’d find you here.”

“What?” Rose didn’t believe him for one second. Her mum would never do such a thing, not after what he’d done to Rose.

Jimmy knew that, of course. He and her mum had never got on, particularly not after he’d supported Rose in her plans to leave school after her GCSEs. Her mediocre GCSEs. “I need to talk to you, Rose. Seriously, yeah? It’s why she told me where to find you,” he said, pushing his hands into the pockets of his low-riding jeans. Only to withdraw them a moment later in supplication. “Call her if you want.”

She stared at him. Then she dug her mobile out of her handbag and did just that. “Mum?”

“Is he there?” Mum asked sharply.

“Yeah. Why did you tell him where I am?” Rose asked, her tone suggesting that she was holding back a much stronger response. But it was her mum, so she’d give her a chance to explain.

“I don’t like it, but I think you should hear him out. Go have a drink in a pub with him. You’ll be safe there,” Mum said. “And call me when you’re leaving, yeah?”

Rose disconnected the call and stared at her phone. Just then the bus pulled up at the kerb, and she debated getting on board. She didn’t want to talk to Jimmy. He had squandered the right to any more of her time. God knew he’d taken a lot of it, some of it without asking her, all of it without thanking her.

“Please, Rose. Give me that chance,” he urged her, reaching out for her arm. The memory of five finger-shaped bruises on her skin flashed before her inner eye and she took a step back. The other people were boarding the waiting bus one after another, leaving her by herself. It was her last chance to escape. 

“You’ve had enough chances, wouldn’t you say?” 

Jimmy dropped his hand. “I have a business proposition for you,” he blurted. “And I want to pay you back. The money I owe you.”

“Oh, so you remember that?”

The doors of the bus closed and the engine revved as the driver pulled out into the traffic. _Damn._

“Please. Just hear me out. You can always say no afterwards.”

She raised an eyebrow. Saying no had never been an option with him, at least not when she was the one to say it. “A business proposition.”

His face lit up. “Yeah. Shall we go somewhere less public?”

Sudden inspiration struck. If memory served her correctly, Maggie’s sandwich shop was right next to a pub. They’d pass _The Bookshop_ on their way, and she could let John know what she was up to. Of course, it was most presumptuous of her to assume that he’d watch out for her, but the idea made her feel better. “I know a place.”

“Great. Shall we?”

They walked in silence, and when they reached John’s shop she told him she had to pick up a book she’d ordered. Luckily, John hadn’t left yet and opened the door for her although he was ready to close for the night. “Rose?” he said, his face an adorable mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Can I ask you a massive favour, John?” she asked. “I know it’s forward of me to do so, but I’d feel so much safer.”

He tensed. “What is it?”

She quickly explained about Jimmy, who was outside, lighting a fag.

“Of course. I don’t leave the shop straight away after closing, anyway. How long before I should call the cavalry?” he asked, frowning at Jimmy.

“Oh, I don’t know. A quarter of an hour?”

“I don’t like it. The idea of you being with him.”

A fluttery thing in her stomach broke free. “Neither do I. Which is why I’m here.”

“Not a good history, eh?”

She shook her head.

“If you don’t walk past my shop in fifteen minutes I’ll come looking for you.”

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He pursed his lips. “You’d do the sensible thing and tell him to sod off.”

She laughed, which in turn lit up his stern expression. “Thank you.”

He nodded at her in greeting, and she left the warmth of the shop feeling a bit better about the next quarter of an hour.

“So, did you get what you wanted?” Jimmy asked. He’d been watching the passersby, so he hadn’t seen that she’d only been talking to John, not actually buying anything. 

She patted the rectangle showing through the cheap material of her bag. “Yeah.”

They continued their trip to the pub. When they stepped inside, Rose was acutely aware of the cold evening, despite how warm the afternoon had been. The pub was warm, filled with the smell of cigarettes and beer. It was a smell she associated with matches and cheering and the sourness of unwashed bodies. At least, she’d be safe here, and the sports event on the telly was muted.

Jimmy got himself a beer and a coke for her. “Want some chips?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have much time. I’m meeting friends later on.” It was a lie, and he saw through it, but he was sensible enough not to call her on it.

Rose checked her watch while he was gone. Jimmy had ten minutes left.

“So what’s this business proposition?” she asked as soon as he set the dewy bottle down in front of her.

He stared at her. He hadn’t expected her to be so short with him. Rose shook her head inwardly. After all that had happened between them he still thought she’d return to him like a beaten puppy. Which she was, but he didn’t know she’d learned to bite back. 

“I’ve got a contract with a record company. It’s a small one but since you’ve always been the sensible one I thought I’d… well, we’d like you to advise us.”

“We? Advise you?”

“The lads and I. The band. The Blood Angels. And it’s not just advising. It’s planning the gigs and the PR and—“

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Rose warned him. He’d always had big plans. In that regard he was like her dad. It was probably precisely for that reason that she’d found Jimmy so exciting when they’d first met. She’d grown up with stories of her father’s mad enterprises, all of which had failed. Her mum had warned her, time and again, but like she Rose hadn’t been able to resist. There was something awful about not believing in someone else’s dreams, particularly if emotional attachment was involved. Of course, her mother had truly loved her father. Whereas she’d been more like a doting puppy towards Jimmy.

She sipped her coke.

“It’s real, Rose. We signed the contract yesterday. And we want you as our manager.”

Rose spluttered. “You what?”

Jimmy looked serious. “And I’d like to return the money I owe you.”

She frowned. “Is that provided I accept the job?”

“No! No, I’d like to give it back. No strings attached.”

She sighed. “Don’t be offended if I find it hard to believe you.”

He exhaled. His breath was noxious and she recoiled inwardly. It was hard to imagine she used to kiss him. “Fair enough.” He reached inside his jacket and produced a cheque. He’d already filled it in. Along with it, he gave her a business card. “Go to the bank, and in case there’s trouble, you’ll know where to find me. Find me anyway, to tell me what you decide. We don’t need to know straight away, but it’d be nice to hear from you soon.”

“What if I say no?”

“Then we’ll accept that.”

“I don’t know the first thing about managing a band. And I’m… I’m going back to school in September.”

His eyes widened. “Are you now?”

She nodded firmly, withdrawing her hand from the bottle when she noticed she was holding on to it.

“Well, that’s a no then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. I can’t, Jimmy. For several reasons. But thank you for paying me back.” It was the closest thing to an apology she was going to get from him, and Rose wasn’t sure whether to accept his money. He owed it to her, but accepting it after all this time felt like he was buying her forgiveness. It made her feel even cheaper than she had when she’d finally left him.

“Think about it, yeah?” He bumped his fist gently on the table, nodded at her, and left.

Rose stared after him for a long time. To say she was confused was putting it mildly. When a group of men, their ties loosened and the rings under their eyes dark, asked her if she minded if they joined her, she remembered John and told them to feel free to take a seat. She was leaving anyway.

“He gave me this,” she told John once he’d let her in. He locked up behind her and turned around the _Closed_ sign. He took the cheque from her.

“That’s a lot of money.”

“He owes me.”

“Not bad. How old are you?” He looked at her with his forehead creased.

“Almost nineteen.”

His forehead became smooth at the same time as his jaw went slack. “So he basically ruined your life in more than one way. Did he bother you?”

She felt drained. “No.”

“You look like you could use a nice cuppa,” he said.

Some of the tension left her shoulders. “That’d be lovely. I’ll just have to call my mum first.” When he raised his eyebrows, she added, “I promised. Jimmy is a bad one.” Of course he must think she was even younger than her age. But why did she care? He’d not be interested in her, particularly not now, even if he’d ever been.

“I’ll be in there,” he said, pointing towards the doors that opened into the office. The lamp over the desk was lit, illuminating the tray with broken toys.

Rose nodded, and quickly made the call, telling her mum not to worry. “800 quid? He’ll really pay you back?”

“I’ve got the cheque here,” Rose said, still looking at it, wondering when the ink would start to fade. She wouldn’t put that past the old Jimmy. “Look, Mum. I’m with a friend, having a cuppa. Are you staying in tonight?”

“Yeah, Howard’s out with the boys. I’ll wait up for you. Love you, sweetheart.”

John was bent over the tray when she joined him in the little office. It wasn’t as tidy as the shop itself, but she supposed that he knew his way round the mess. “Hi,” she said shyly.

He looked up, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “All right?”

“Yeah.”

He gestured for her to have a seat. “Do you want to talk about it? With a complete stranger?”

Rose smiled. “I wouldn’t say you’re a complete stranger. We’ve met before.”

He guffawed. “I suppose we have.”

“My name’s Rose Tyler, by the way.”

He looked at her, assessing her. Trying to find out if she was making fun of him. “Smith. John Smith,” he eventually said. 

Rose told him about Jimmy. How he’d taken advantage of her, lied and cheated, and left her with £800 debt only to find himself in prison after a short trip to Amsterdam with some floozy. It didn’t take much imagination to understand why he’d gone there. Quick money had always been his thing.

John was listening patiently, encouraging her to keep talking as he got up to take care of the tea when the kettle clicked off. Putting a mug of sweet, creamy tea down in front of her he said, “You’re not going to say yes, are you.”

She laughed. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Very sensible,” he said, blowing on his own mug. “It’ll be interesting to see if you actually get the money.”

She finally put the slip of paper between the pages of the book in her bag. Had she really been holding on to it all the time? “I’ll see that on my next statement.”

He nodded.

“What are you working on? Another living toy?” 

“No. This is a simple broken axle.”

They sat in silence for a while. John clearly wanted to get on with his work, but he was too nice to ask her to leave. And something kept her. “Do you… I mean, the living toys. It’s… kinda hard to imagine.”

“You don’t believe the kids?”

“Do you?” she shot back.

He sat back in his chair. “I do. It’s in their eyes. If you look closely you can see that they are serious. Frightened, but serious. And they look you in the eye when they finally have the courage to trust you.”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”

“I _know_ ,” he said, tapping his nose. 

She nodded. “You are a father.”

He sighed. “Was.”

“Sorry. I should have known.”

“You should.”

“Yeah,” she said, sitting up a bit straighter and sipping her tea. “I was trying to draw you out of your shell. It was rude.”

He regarded her carefully with his blue eyes. In contrast to Jimmy’s eyes, which were also blue, his had a warm, sparkly quality. But at the same time there was bottomless sadness in them, and sometimes she thought they were a lot older than they could possibly be. Or ought to be. 

Then he smiled. This time, it was a genuine smile. “It was nice. Not many try that.”

“Then they don’t really want to know.”

He looked away briefly then drank some tea. It was the perfect temperature now. “No, I suppose they don’t.”

Rose ducked her head. She didn’t want to press him. Essentially, he was a stranger, and she should show more gratitude. He’d helped her out twice already; the second time she’d even asked him to. “Why did you help me?”

He frowned. “You were scared. Still are, in a way.”

Now it was she who slumped back in her chair.

“I can’t turn away a scared young woman who asks for help, can I? What kind of a person would that make me?”

She smiled. “I owe you more than a drawing now.”

“You don’t own me anything, Rose Tyler,” he said. “You came back to let me know you’re all right, and you’re sitting here with me, trying to draw me out of my shell — which is a gesture I appreciate, by the way, even though I won’t actually tell you the sad story of my life, because you’re clever enough to know that I’ve lost my children — when you should go out having fun with your friends. It’s Saturday night. You just cleared your debts. You could stop working at _Henrik’s_. And yet here you are. Talking to me about living toys.”

She pretended to give this some thought. He was right about going out and celebrating, but she didn’t feel like it. The cheque, provided it didn’t bounce, meant closure as well as a giant leap towards her future. She was filled with relief. Not the kind that inspired her to dance and drink and make merry. More a sense of gratitude. “Yes,” she said, raising her mug to her lips. “Yes, I am.” 

“Why?”

“Because we both need a particular kind of company right now.”

He looked at her, baffled. Then he laughed. “You know, you’re right. I’ve been wondering about the living toys.”

“And?” She leaned forward with her chin on her hand, propping her elbow on her knee. The tip of her tongue found its way between her teeth, challenging him. Or encouraging him, she wasn’t sure which it was herself. The toys were intriguing.

“And I think that so far only a certain kind of toy has been affected. None of the children have told me about their teddy bears or building blocks coming alive.”

“Because?”

“Because they’re not made of plastic,” he said with a triumphant grin.

“Ah.”

His face fell. “You don’t agree?”

She made an apologetic gesture. “No, I just think we should go by what my science teacher kept telling us. For a theory to prove right you need lots of empirical data.”

“Three cases of toys coming alive, plastic toys only, mind you, isn’t a lot, is it.”

“No. But we’re just starting, right?”

“We?”

She stiffened. “Yeah. I thought… I thought I could help you a little? Because you helped me out?”

He gave this some thought, finishing his tea in the process. “Fair enough. But don’t feel obliged.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling widely, “I’ve learned my lesson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read a commentary on the chapter [here](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/183724.html).


	6. Chapter 6

“In an ideal world you’d take a taxi,” he said as they walked to the end of the pedestrian zone where Regent Street was brightly lit and busy with buses and black cabs.

“I can’t afford it.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“The money isn’t in my account yet, besides, I can’t spend it. I have to pass it on to other people.”

“Good thing too. That way he won’t be able to claim it back once you tell him no again,” he said, grinning. “But at least you’ll get to keep all the money you earn from now on.”

Rose smiled widely and her eyes sparkled in the illumination coming from the shop windows and the street lights. It was a beautiful smile that he’d love to see more often. “Yeah, I suppose so.” Her uncertainty underscored his growing realisation that she didn’t really grasp the meaning of the slip of paper in her bag.

“Well, be safe,” he said for lack of anything safer to say. He knew that the alternative was, surprisingly, only unsafe words to say, all of which went along the lines of _Please don’t forget me._

She waved at him as her bus arrived, and just as she got on, it occurred to him that he’d forgotten to ask her about the toy department at _Henrik’s_. But it was too late; the crowd boarding the bus had seemingly come out of nowhere, further sign for how wrapped up in her safety — in her company — he’d been. He tried anyway. “Rose!” In addition, he waved at her to get her attention.

She spotted him and gave him a strange look. 

“The toys! Did you… at _Henrik’s_?” There was no discreet way to ask her this, not at a bus stop teeming with people. Suddenly they were each surrounded by not just the people getting on the bus, but an equally large group getting off for a spot of late evening shopping.

“What?” Rose mouthed. Her words were drowned out by the revving of the engine as the bus started to pull into the traffic.

“Rose!”

“Call her,” a little old lady standing next to him said. “It’s going to be all right. Just talk to her, love.”

He stared at her. “I — I don’t have her number. We only just met.”

She squinted slightly as she looked him up and down. He’d never felt so naked. Not physically, but emotionally naked. “Well, the best of luck then, love. I’m sure the two of you will work it out.”

“How?” He was so baffled by what she said that he didn’t even question her. How could she probably know something like that? It couldn’t just be experience.

“You need her,” she said, adjusting the strap of her handbag around her forearm. “Now be a dear and help me across the street. Hamleys’ over there, you see? I need something for my grandson. You look like you would have an idea about toys.”

John squared his jaw but relaxed when all he saw in her eyes was kindness. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”

She smiled at him, and he led her to the traffic lights. Together they went to Hamleys without speaking a word. When they arrived there, he asked what it was that she was looking for.

“Oh, I don’t know. What do six-year-olds play with?”

“Don’t ask me, ma’am. I sell children’s books, not toys.”

Her eyes lit up; they turned a colour that was difficult to describe, but her delight took years from them. “And you didn’t say a word.”

He grinned at her and shrugged. “My mother told me not to contradict my elders.”

“Did she now? Well, at least you’re a gentleman. Thank you so much, love. I think I’ll go pester some of the staff,” she said, tapping the side of her nose. Before he could say anything she’d disappeared into the surprisingly busy shop.

From all corners, and, indeed, on all floors of the shop came some kind of toy-related buzzing, humming, hooting, shrieking or clanging. There was nothing for the eye to rest on, everything was in motion. _Everyone_ was in motion, and against the colourful background of the toys and their packaging even the people looked like cartoon characters. John wondered when he’d stepped through the rabbit hole.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” a uniformed shopgirl asked him. She was nothing like Rose; there was no spirit in her tired eyes. He couldn’t blame the girl. He, too, would be exhausted if he were in her place.

“Just an action figure, some Lego people and a few farm animals. The plastic kind that are true to life,” he said.

The girl directed him to the floors he needed, and set off to grab what he needed as quickly as possible. He’d completely forgotten how mad toy shops could be. Memories of standing here just like this came rushing back like the little boy who came barreling towards him chasing a remote-controlled car one of the shop assistants was steering rather recklessly through the jungle of legs. Unable to stop himself, the boy smacked into his legs and John reached down reflexively to catch the boy by his shoulders to keep him from falling.

The child looked at him with round, blue eyes.

“Are you all right?” John asked, squatting in front of him.

The boy nodded.

“You know where your mum is?”

Again, the boy nodded, but he still didn’t say a word. John let go of his shoulders. “Then you’d better go and find her. She’ll be scared in all this.”

This turned the boy’s open-mouthed silence into a grin, and with a quick “Bye!” he took off in the direction he’d come from.

John ran a hand over his cropped hair. Ben had been just like this little boy. He still couldn’t believe that Ben wasn’t going to grow up and grow out of certain types of toys and stories and into others. Nor was Sophie.

He shook his head and stood. He needed to get the toys and leave. Thankfully, he found them easily. When he paid for his purchases he felt a bit like an impostor because he wasn’t a father any more. At the same time he realised how silly he was being. All kinds of people who did not have children of their own bought toys; for their nieces, nephews, godchildren, or their friends’ children. He was buying new ones for his research because he couldn’t bear the idea of using Ben’s and Sophie’s things. Although he was sure that if they knew they’d urge him, proudly, to use theirs; “But don’t break anything!” he could hear Sophie warn him. 

“Ha, that’s a surprise,” a voice said next to him just as he was stepping out of the bright, noisy warmth and into the cool late winter night. He knew without turning to look that it was the little old lady whom he’d escorted earlier. “Did you get what you came to find?”

He raised his arm to show her the bag. She was carrying a similar one. “It’s a dangerous place,” she said, turning round.

“Yes,” he said.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “Have you heard of toys coming alive?”

“Other than the battery-operated ones?”

She nodded.

“Have you?”

“Oh yes. I came here to see them for myself.” She opened her bag so he could see a bright pink box. “I got one of those little unicorns. They look so cheerful.”

John grinned. “So much for your grandson, eh?”

“Oh, no, love. I got him something too. But I don’t suppose living Lego bricks are just as fun as a unicorn,” she said.

“Makes sense.”

“Does it though? You must think I’m a batty old woman.”

“Not at all, ma’am. I’ve heard those stories too.”

“And what do you reckon?”

He shrugged. “I want to believe.”

A wide smile rejuvenated the little girl she once was. “So do I,” she said in a tearful voice.

“Would you like me to walk you back to the bus stop?” He offered her his arm.

She slid her narrow, gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. “That’s very kind of you.”

He saw her off and then walked north to catch the tube home. He should have asked where she’d heard about the living toys. He could see, however, why she’d want to see them for herself. Despite her age she’d not forgotten what it was like to be a kid.

He was about half her age, but his own childhood was foggy at best. He remembered lots of studying and glimpsing the abyss of madness, but apart from his sketches there was nothing to remind him of any games he’d enjoyed. It was a side effect of his trauma, and the doctors had assured him that one day everything would come rushing back. They’d warned him that getting his memories back might be just as traumatising as losing them. In the meantime, all he had was his subconscious that seemed to come to life every night to supply him with distinctive but puzzling images from his past.

While mildly confusing, the dreams were never horrible. At least, they hadn’t been so far. He’d yet to dream of losing Nell and the children. The doctors had said that attested to the depth to which he’d buried the events. They, too, would eventually come back to him.

Sometimes John hoped they’d stay buried forever; he wasn’t sure what was worse: living with a shadowy past, or living with a clear idea of what had shaped him into the man he had become.

He looked up at the dark shape of the former Victorian school house rising beyond the garden wall. Quite a few lights were on, radiating the warmth of homes that it now held. It was full of nooks and crannies, and he was sure that Ben would have loved it here. No one lived in a school, apart from the caretaker. 

John smiled as he unlocked the gate. The playground had been turned into a garden, with individual patios for each of the flats; he was looking forward to using his. He’d asked for the one that came with a derelict greenhouse, which, apparently, none of the other residents wanted. But he could see that it had great potential to be turned it into a conservatory. 

His flat was on the second and third floor; a staircase led from the generous living room up to his study, and and a spare bedroom was reached via a gallery. He used the latter as a cosy reading nook when the rafters and tall, gothic windows became too much. That didn’t happen often because he felt comfortable in the vastness of the room. In an odd way, he found it comforting. The previous owners had painted the plastered walls the colour of the sky, so when he lay on the sofa and looked up at the powerful, arched beams he imagined gazing up into the sky through an open roof. All that was missing was the constellations of stars painted on in gold. He could do that, and it would remind him of a trip he and Nell had taken to Siena in Italy, where the vaults of the cathedral were decorated in a similar fashion, minus the constellations.

In the kitchen, he popped a dish of left-over potato gratin into the microwave before he went in search of a cardboard box. It had been Rose’s idea to put the toys in one for the night. That way, if they really came alive overnight, they’d not be able to get away. Depending on when the magic happened, he might even be able to watch them move around.

Maybe it would be better to give each of the three fellows a box of their own, in case the Centurion felt like riding and the Lego man was scared of the the tall folks.

John shook is head. His inner child was certainly tickled by that idea. But this wasn’t a game. This was serious research, even if he wasn’t sure whether the moniker ‘scientific’ was really appropriate. He was no scientist. His domain was Ancient Egypt. Which was why the centurion had attracted his attention, and the Lego man reminded him of a cubist’s rendition of a pharaoh.

He found three boxes in a storage cupboard in the cloak room and, having liberated the Centurion and Lego pharaoh from their respective packaging, put each of them into their box on the dining table. With a pencil, he marked the spot where he put them down so he could tell if they’d moved, in case they returned to their original position. None of the children had mentioned that, but he wanted to be on the safe side.

The microwave dinged. He quickly got a steak out of the fridge and fried it in the cast iron grill. Then he settled at the far end of the dining table with a copy of _The Time Traveler's Wife_ and a glass of wine.

After his meal he refilled his glass of wine and sat down at the grand piano to play. He preferred improvising over playing a specific piece when he needed to think because his train of thought would begin to follow the music and eventually things became much clearer.

His music started out softly, as it always did when he let his subconscious take control. He surprised himself when the music that night turned out to flow easily, as if he’d rehearsed the piece many times. It was cheerful and lively and it carried the children’s excitement over their living toys as well as Rose’s tentative joy over her debts that had magically disappeared. 

It carried his surprise when Rose came to the shop to ask for his help as well as his relief that she was all right after her meeting with her ex. He’d have wanted to go with her to the pub. Well, not actually with her, but follow her so she’d know she was being watched by a friend.

A friend.

Was that what they had become in the space of an afternoon and an evening?

They had certainly bonded over the mystery of Arthur’s bolting, and then again when Rose had confided in him.

He knew what was happening to him, slowly, but unequivocally, and he was terrified. The last time he’d been in love he’d let his guard down and his lover, as well as their children, had been taken from him, as if to prove that he was unable to look after them properly.

He couldn’t even remember clearly what had happened, which seemed to only further the idea that it was not a good idea for him to ever give his heart away again. His diary was still in his coat pocket, waiting to be filled with more sketches and repetitive details of his dreams.

He stopped playing abruptly when he noticed that his music was changing, taking on a frenzied, dissonant quality. Dropping his hands to his lap he imagined Nell walking up behind him to stroke the tension out of his shoulders. She’d encourage him to finish his improvisation to clear his mind before bed, but that was not an option. The shower was a poor substitute for her fingers, she had always found the spots that troubled him most with surprising ease and strength.

Sighing, he emptied his glass and stood to take it to the dishwasher. On his way, he checked the three boxes, but the occupants hadn’t moved. It occurred to him that Sophie would have given them names, just like she had named all the people in the Egyptian reliefs she’d seen at the museum. To her, they had been like a gigantic comic book. She’d learned how to spell his name in Hieroglyphs; the framed papyrus sat on his desk upstairs, the signs enclosed into a cartouche as if he were royalty.

He took a deep breath.

Sometimes he missed them so much that his heart began to beat erratically and he wished he had a second one to support the one that had broken. Bracing himself on the edge of the dinner table, he took a few deep breaths to calm down. It helped, but the tightness around his ribcage remained. At least he didn’t feel as if something wanted to burst out of it any more.

It was time for a shower and then bed. Then the dreams would come, adding another piece to the jigsaw that had been his life; unfortunately, he only had few pieces from the edge of the picture, so the images could go practically anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ch 6 Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/184379.html)


	7. Chapter 7

6 March 2005

His bathroom smelled of spring meadows. Or at least that was what it said on the bottle of fabric softener. He wasn’t sure if that’s what it really was. A spring meadow from a bottle. His bathroom smelled of fresh laundry, and he loved that. It gave him a sense of accomplishment, having managed not to discolour or shrink his clothes. He looked at the collection of vests and running shirts suspended drying rack. They’d once hung there with much smaller and more colourful shirts with cartoon characters and princesses on them. And Nell’s Yoga things. Now it was just his things. Plucking a shirt from the clothes horse, he pulled it on. It was time for his run with Phin. With any luck, he might be fit enough to run the next London marathon.

Running was his time of the day, when he got a chance, despite his running partner, to be alone with his thoughts, to plan the day ahead. And sometimes, if he were very lucky he’d even manage to just let go of everything that was bothering him. On his way out, he glanced at the diary on the kitchen table. He’d left it there, lying open at the page he’d filled with a combination of words and images that had repeated in his dreams.

He’d sketched a tin dog called K9. It looked like a retro robot, but there was something about it that suggested that the dog had personality. After all that had happened the previous day, John had half-expected Arthur to make an appearance, but he hadn’t. He looked at the three boxes sitting at the far end of the table and checked them again, just to make sure. But the toys didn’t seem to have moved. If they had, they’d managed to return to their exact original positions, which he doubted they would have done. None of the toys the children had seen move ended up where they had set off from.

He sat down, frowning. The toys were all made of plastic, but they were all different brands of toys, as well as different kinds of plastic; unless, of course, the toy companies all belonged to one huge empire. If that was the case, there might be a reason behind the fact that they came alive. If it was a marketing trick, it was a very clever one. But if that was the latest trend in the toy industry, he was sure he’d have heard about it. Battery-operated, remote-controlled toys making all kinds of noises and blinking their lights were all well and good, but living toys were every child’s dream. Surely, that would have made the six o’clock news.

He picked up the Centurion. His colourless stare was as painted on, just as it had been in the night, his fingers curled just enough to limply grasp the short sword on his belt. Not a fold in his coat was out of place. He put him carefully back into his box, placing his feet exactly inside the pair of foot-shaped pencil marks he’d drawn.

“What makes you come alive, hmm? A tin hat hooked up to a lightning conductor?” he murmured.

He sat there, his gaze wandering from the Centurion to the horse to the Lego man and back. They wouldn’t divulge their secret, much less answer his question. John was glad when the doorbell announced Phin’s arrival. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that Phin was right on time, as usual. “Be good, eh?”

Phin was doing some stretches in the former playground when John stepped outside into the crisp morning. It was sunny again, and he was glad that they wouldn’t have to share the quiet streets and the embankment with anyone who was not walking their dog; it was too early for tourists and those enjoying the gorgeous weather. 

“I thought we were meeting at the park?” John said when Phin was done with his exercises and straightened to look at him. They had an unspoken rule that they didn’t break each other’s concentration while they were warming up or running. It was a good rule. It made you reconsider whether what you wanted to say was really important enough to disturb the silence. Sometimes, it wasn’t. You already had the answer. Sometimes it really needed to be said, you really needed to talk and get your friend’s advice.

This morning, John decided not to talk about the living toys, or about Rose with Phin. It was too fantastic, in each case, outlandish even. It wasn’t that John didn’t trust Phin. His friend was a rational man, more of a scientist than a philosopher. John knew that he’d need more information on the plastic and less infatuation with Rose to make this work.

“Becca’s planned something special so I need the extra mile.”

John laughed. Becca usually thought that he could do with an extra pound or two, and the best way to do that was to provide a substantial breakfast after their Sunday morning run. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from her,” John said. “You ready?”

“Yep, let’s,” Phin said, and they set off.

While his feet were pounding the unforgiving, patchy pavements and crunchy gravel paths John couldn’t get either the tin dog or the plastic toys out of his mind. Even the unforgiving March air that sucked the warmth out of his lungs couldn’t clear his mind. The dog, he thought, must be a toy, just like the ones inhabiting shoe boxes on his kitchen table. But why tin? Did it have anything to do with the plastic toys? Or maybe it meant nothing at all. Maybe it was just something that his mind had constructed distract him?

“Are you all right?” Phin panted when he dropped him off just outside the door in the garden wall.

“Yeah,” he said, bracing himself with his hands just above his knees.

Phin kept jogging in one spot; “See you at mine in an hour?”

“Yeah.” The sun was becoming stronger, and lured more and more early birds out of their homes. It was a perfect morning to take a walk and have breakfast in a café. “Yeah, fine. Although I’m starving, so I might not last a full hour.”

Phin grinned in response and headed off with a wave. 

John straightened and dug his keys out of the tiny pouch in his shorts. It was his spare set, without any keychains so it was as small as possible. His fingers were trembling slightly, and he thought that eating an apple before showering might be a good idea.

The toys still hadn’t moved in their boxes. After a quick shower, an apple and a few graphite strokes added to the sketch of K9, John got on his bike and rode the short distance to the Harcourts’. Negotiating his way through the lazy Sunday morning traffic, he wondered what made his toys different from the children’s. His might be from a different batch. 

When he arrived at the Harcourts’, he pushed his bike through the door to the back garden. Their cat, Minerva, greeted him there, pushing her head against his leg and winding around it as he secured the bike. She allowed him to pick her up for a cuddle. He enjoyed her little warm body against his chest, and she returned the feeling; he could feel her purr reverberating against his body. He stroked her with long, even movements, just as she liked it, but as usual, she started wiggling after a minute or so and he gently set her down. With a last brush against his denim-clad leg, she disappeared into the shrubbery at the bottom of the garden.

“You ought to have a moggie of your own, you know,” Becca said, watching from the doorstep.

“I’d not be a good Dad to one,” he replied.

“Rubbish,” she replied.

He stepped forward and greeted her with a kiss. “Good morning, love.”

She smiled, hugging him. “Morning. It’s good to have you.”

“Phin mentioned a feast.”

“He’s exaggerating,” she said. John had learned to trust them both; Phineas was prone to exaggerating the amount of food his wife was preparing in her cluttered, rustic kitchen, while she tended to be afraid of not having enough to feed all of them. More often than not, he left their place with several containers of food that fed him for two or three days.

He suppressed a smile when he spotted the richly set table. Phin had certainly not exaggerated this time; in addition to a full English, he spotted a selection of her homemade jams and marmalades, which he could never resist, and her home made bread. There was also a huge bowl of fruit salad and cupcakes.

“Are you on duty this afternoon?” Phin asked, gesturing for him to sit down. The room was warmed by the rich, earthy scent of fresh coffee. Although he was generally more of a tea man, he never turned down Becca’s coffee. She had a special kind she bought at a deli, who got it directly from a roaster in Hamburg.

“No, but I think I’ll go in anyway.” His own words surprised him. He hadn’t planned on going in, but he knew that it made perfect sense. He’d been wondering all day about the living toys, and chances were he’d see more excited children at the shop who might be able to answer some of his questions.

Rose might be there too.

He dismissed that most surprising of all the thoughts at once. There was no reason she would want to be in the city on a Sunday afternoon, not in this gorgeous weather. She’d be out with her friends, enjoying the early heralds of spring. 

“You need some time off, John,” Becca said, joining them with a cafetière. She was a small woman, shorter even than Phin, but it was easy to forget that when you talked to her because she was such a grand woman. 

“Working at the shop is my time off,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but… shouldn’t you be fishing in Scotland or scuba-diving on the Maldives?”

He snorted. “Am I that much of a walking cliché? Thank you ever so much.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m fine at the shop. Really, I am. I need to get some work done on the broken toys,” he said, holding out his cup so she could pour him coffee.

“You’re not a walking cliché,” Phin said.

“It’s why I told Sarah Jane about you. Phin tells me she came to the shop yesterday?” Becca said, disappearing into the kitchen to rescue the sizzling eggs and sausages from donning too dark a coat.

“Yes, she did. Thanks, by the way,” he said. _I think_. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the journalist. It was best to forget about her until she got in touch about the article, which he somehow doubted she would. She’d seemed a lot more interested in the living toys than the shop and its philosophy.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Becca called. The sizzling sound faded quickly as she turned off the gas, and then he could hear her plating the food.

“Yeah,” he said.

Phin looked carefully at him. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“You know I find it hard to trust journalists.”

His friend sighed. 

Becca brought out all three plates at once. She’d told him frequently that balancing three plates wasn’t really that tricky, but he declined politely when she offered to show him, claiming he was too clumsy.

“How do you know her anyway?” he asked, looking at the food. His mouth watered immediately, and despite the apple he’d had he was ravenous.

“She wrote the series of articles for the fortieth anniversary of the National a couple of years ago,” Becca said.

“The piece about the costume department is the best,” Phin said, reaching for Becca’s hand.

“Oh, shut it. Of course you’d say that,” Becca said. She was the head of the costume department. John was familiar with her work because he and Phin were usually treated to tickets for any production they wanted to see.

“Why haven’t I read that?” John asked, genuinely confused.

“It came out right after Nell and the children died,” Becca asked.

Her candid words lashed across his being with all the cat’s nine tails. The pain numbed him momentarily, but numbing was good. He needed to feel the loss of his family less acutely in order to keep going and build a new life for himself. He knew that. That was what he wanted.

Phin frowned into the tense silence that ensued.

“You must give me a copy. I’d like to see what it is that earned your trust in her,” John said, piercing the dark skin of the sausage with the prongs of his fork.

“Sure, I’ll give you one later. Remind me if I forget,” she said, glancing pointedly at Phin.

“Sorry, sweet, but it… Do you have to be so blunt about it?”

“Please,” John said, setting down his fork and knife. “Please don’t censor yourselves on my behalf. Nell, Ben and Sophie are dead. I miss them all the time, but not talking about them won’t bring them back.”

Becca stared at him. “But I thought… You running off to _The Bookshop_ was exactly the point of the exercise.”

“If I’d wanted to run from all of it I’d not be in London any more, love,” John said, folding his hands to prop his chin on their arch. “I just need to find out who I am without them.” Again, the three of them were silent, and eventually he picked up his cutlery and began to eat. In between bites he told them about Rose and the little old lady. What he didn’t tell them was what he had in common with them, or the real reason why he’d gone to _Hamleys_. It wasn’t important, not yet, anyway. “The point is, neither of them felt pity for me. If they were sorry for my loss, they didn’t show it. They just accepted it.”

Phin set his cup down thoughtfully. “If we’ve been smothering you, all you had to do was say it.”

John sighed.

“Maybe we should just talk about them more. Share our memories, yeah?” Becca suggested.

John held up his hand. “I’m not sure I want that. Not just yet, anyway.”

“So you still haven’t recovered all of your memories,” Phin said.

John ran his hand over his face. “Just small bits here and there.”

Becca finished her food and placed her napkin beside her plate. “So, what do we do?”

“I think,” John said carefully, “we should look at the photos of the times we spent together. That might jog my memory and you get to talk about them. But I don’t… what I don’t want is a second-hand memory.”

Phin grunted and stood.

“I’m not making myself clear, am I?”

“Oh yes, you are. You need to be sure about the source. Which doesn’t make things easier, does it?” With that his friend left the dining room to get something from the fridge. John couldn’t imagine what, with every conceivable breakfast foods already on the table.

“We could just look at photos and you start with what you remember,” Becca suggested.

John smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was so ashamed of his prolonged amnesia that he rarely talked about Nell and the children to others for fear they might judge him. Neither Phin nor Becca would judge him, and it wasn’t really about that. It was about sharing his grief with others who loved his family too. The Harcourts hadn’t been his children’s godparents for nothing.

“You know what, love,” Becca said. “Give it a thought. Which will give us time to put together our favourite snapshots.”

Phin returned with a dewy bottle of champagne and three vintage glasses. Becca collected them, and what he liked so much about them, apart from their olden-days charm was the fact that they did not put them on display behind glass. They used each and every piece of Becca’s vintage kitchenware horde.

“In the meantime, we can always create new memories,” Becca said.

John stood to help Phin manage the unexpected treat. The bottle was already open, but the pale liquid pearled and fizzed into the glasses like a newly uncaged being.

“To new memories,” Phin said after he’d distributed all three glasses.

They clinked them and drank.

“So what’s the occasion?” John asked. There was more to the dry bubbly turning to velvet on his tongue than a simple celebration of friendship. Or the gorgeous spring morning.

“We would like you to go toy-shopping a lot more in the future,” Phin said.

John frowned. Had Sarah Jane told them about the toys? Was he being paranoid?

“For your godchild,” Becca added helpfully.

“My?”

“I’m twelve weeks pregnant.”

She and Phin had been trying for a baby for a long time; they’d said that being godparents was good practise, but that had been taken from them when the children died. John didn’t know what to say.

“John?”

“Oh, umm, congratulations! That’s fantastic!” he said, putting down his glass so he could hug first Becca and then Phin.

“Seems like finally giving up on it did the trick,” Phin grinned.

“I’m so happy for you! Of course I’ll go toy-shoppping for him. Or her. And books, and…” John was so overwhelmed he choked back a sob. Memories of finding out they were having Ben and Sophie came rushing back. Not in clear, photo-like images, but in an intense feeling of joy and fear. At the time, he’d been more drunk on these complicated feelings of him becoming a father — imagine that, him, the silly bloke, being a father! — than any night at the pub with the lads that he could remember.

“So don’t make any plans for September, eh?” Phin said, grinning broadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/185114.html).


	8. Chapter 8

The bath and the tea her mother provided as an emergency treatment for the stupefying news made Rose sleepy. By the time she left the bathroom her mum was worried, and her initial disappointment at her reluctance to celebrate had worn off. Rose went straight to bed, and snuggled into the pink covers with her new book. 

When she woke it took a few moments to get her bearings, finally focusing on the sound of her neighbour’s coffee maker. This usually only happened when she’d been completely exhausted and woke well-rested. She didn’t remember a single line from the book, and she found that the cheque Jimmy had given her was still propped against her alarm clock. Last night hadn’t been a dream after all. 

Rose reached for it and looked at it for a long time. The ink of a cheap Bic biro hadn’t magically disappeared over night, nor had the digits or letters shifted to spell a different name or amount. Even the dot between the two sets of double zeros hadn’t moved. This narrow slip of paper still entitled her to eight-hundred pounds. She replaced it carefully beside her alarm clock.

In the afternoon she’d thought she was treating herself when she bought the slim volume that had slid off her bed overnight. But a few hours later, it seemed that her debts were in her her past. She’d not have to worry too much about buying a new book. Bending over the edge of her bed, she fished for the book. Luckily, it hadn’t suffered too badly from the fall.

Rose thumbed the stiff new copy to the first page, inhaling the smell of paper and ink the book released like a blossoming flower. She closed her eyes to appreciate it. Sometimes, when she went to help out in the book department, she’d stick her nose in the books, just for the smell. So far, she’d not been caught. It was an odd thing to do, she thought, and would be hard to explain to someone who wasn’t a reader.

How did John manage? If he loved the smell of books as much as she did, he must feel like he’s in heaven in _The Bookshop_ , with all these wonderful stories at his fingertips. She still regretted missing his afternoon reading. Unlike Grandma Prentice, her teacher in primary school had been a wonderful reader because she’d done all the voices. It wasn’t that she hadn’t loved it when her grandma read to her. It was special in its own right, because she’d cuddled up to her as she read, and played with the locket she wore around her neck.

Rose dropped the book on her stomach. There was nothing stopping her from going to one of John’s readings, and when she did, she’d have to make sure to bring the drawing he had asked for. She wasn’t sure what she was going to draw, but it had to be something special.

There was a soft knock on her door before it opened and her mum looked in on her. “Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?”

Rose brushed back her terrible bed head. “Yeah, thanks. You?”

“I was a bit worried about you. You seemed so… quiet last night. Are you sure everything’s all right?”

Rose sat up with the help of her elbows digging into the mattress. Her abs muscles used to be stronger, and she loathed the consequence of that realisation. “Yeah. I am now. I was just… overwhelmed, is all.”

“And worried it will bounce.”

She shrugged.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mum sighed. She opened the door and came in to sit on the edge of her bed. “Jimmy scared you. And I feel bad because I told him where you were. But he seemed so… different. Like he really meant it.” Rose followed her mum’s gaze to the cheque on her bedside table.

“I wasn’t scared,” Rose said, carding her fingers through her hair. She usually did that to work out the worst tangles before she took a comb to it. “I wasn’t.”

She gave her a long searching look. “Not at the time, you weren’t.”

Rose shook her head. “I asked a friend to come looking for me at the pub if I didn’t turn up after a while.”

“That’s my girl,” Mum said, cupping her cheek and brushing its apple with her thumb. “Was it horrible? Does he want anything in return?”

The thought hadn’t occurred to Rose, not even after all that had happened, so she was glad that her mum asked that question. Looking at his job offer from this perspective you could definitely see how he had manipulated her. Again. And she’d let him, despite everything she had learned. Rose pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Then she told her mum about the job.

That made even Jackie Tyler speechless. She looked at the Venetian blinds that filtered the Sunday morning sun into slivers that danced on the ridges and valleys of her pink bedclothes. “He didn’t,” she said eventually.

Rose nodded.

“We, my lovely daughter, are in serious need of a good cuppa. Don’t you move,” Mum said, patting her foot through the duvet.

Rose laughed softly and shook her head. Tea was good. “Just might need the loo.”

After they’d both taken care of their needs, they sat on her bed again, Rose snuggled beneath the covers, her fingers wrapped around the mug through the protective layer of her long-sleeved shirt. Mum balanced her mug on her knees.

“Show me,” she said, tilting her head towards the bedside table where she’d spied the cheque. When she held it out, her Mum plucked the slip of paper from between her fingers. 

Neither of them had ever received such a vast amount of money on a cheque before. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t money yet, but it still was a terribly valuable slip of paper. Mum examined it carefully, but even she couldn’t find fault with it. “First thing Monday morning.”

“I have the early shift,” Rose reminded her. “The bank doesn’t open that early.”

“I could drop it off for you if you want.”

“I’d like to do it myself,” Rose said. It was such a milestone in her life that she wanted to do this herself. She could always call ahead at the shop and tell them she had something important to take care of on her way in and would make up the time during her lunch break. It depended on whether Mrs Parker was in tomorrow morning; she was a strict old witch who had no sympathy for something as life-changing as this.

“You’re not accepting the job, though. He’s clever, that one is, but not that clever. Does he really think that just because he’s paid you back you’ll bend over backwards in gratitude. He owed you the money, so he should be grateful. And ashamed for waiting so long to pay it back.”

Rose sipped her tea. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“So what about the job?”

“I haven’t the foggiest about managing a band, Mum,” she said, and almost added, _Do trust me a little_. “Besides, I’m over him. I’ll be happy for him if his band are successful, but I don’t want anything to do with him.”

Her mum exhaled. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s just… the things he did to you, how he made you change is something for which I’ll never forgive him.”

Rose snorted. “Trust me, it’s not something I find easy to forgive myself for either.”

Mum cupped her cheek again and held her gaze firmly. The blue fire of her eyes was blazing. “It’s not your fault. We do stupid things to please others. And he’s always been quite the charmer. Look what he did to me last night.”

Rose smiled shakily. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“You won’t make the same mistake again, believe me,” Mum said. “And the man who’s unable to appreciate who you are does not deserve you. You hear me?”

Rose whispered her reply, which earned her a kiss to the forehead.

“Let’s celebrate a little, eh? You don’t reckon a glass of wine for lunch would jinx it?” Mum asked; she could be mildly superstitious in such cases.

Mum left her to get ready for the day, and Rose sipped a few times from her tea before she finally got up to go to the bathroom. Howard had installed a new shower head and a fancy new tap that made it so much easier to get the temperature right. As the water was streaming down on her in the shower her thoughts started to flow as well.

Yesterday had been a fantastic day, all things considered. She wasn’t sure what parts of it she should tell her mum about. Certainly not the living toys. She wasn’t so sure about John either. While Mum would be overjoyed, if a little cautious, at the news of a new boyfriend, Rose knew that a boyfriend her mum’s age wouldn’t go down well with her. 

Rose tipped her head backwards to sort her thoughts as the jets carded through her hair and plastered it to her head. Where had that idea come from? John was a friend; his readiness to help had proved that. But there was nothing to suggest that they’d become more than that, or that he was even interested in her in the first place. For all she knew he was married, but just didn’t wear a ring.

Besides, he’d lost a child. He’d need all his strength to recover and to find a way to make his relationship with the mother work. 

Still.

There was something about him that wouldn’t leave her alone. She had turned to him for help last night when she could have gone back into the store to ask Aggie or Josh for back-up. They were her friends, and they’d have helped her, but John didn’t have to and he’d helped her anyway, without the slightest hesitation. The expression in his eyes had spoken of genuine concern for her welfare, as had his relief when she returned to the shop.

She wouldn’t find an answer to that question unless she asked him. But that seemed rude; not to mention awkward, particularly since she felt so indebted to him.

For a few moments the ugly idea of repeating one of her biggest mistakes occupied her thoughts. She’d wanted to please Jimmy, and paying John back seemed a lot like doing him favours too.

The situation was completely different. John didn’t expect anything in return. A picture was hardly compensation for the inconvenience she’d caused him last night, or at the sandwich shop. It was more of a token of appreciation, nothing that had any measurable value.

One might think he’d gently teased her or said he'd accept a picture as 'payment' to put her at ease.

It certainly hadn’t been condescending.

Besides, didn’t they share a secret that might account for the connection she felt for him? She still wasn’t sure about the living toys, but she liked the idea of them. And she was curious to find out how they worked. Arthur was neither remote-controlled nor wind-up. He was of solid, slightly malleable plastic. What were the other living toys John had mentioned? Lego and an action figure. They, too, were of plastic and neither remote-controlled nor wind-ups.

Rose paused as she lathered her hair. There was a box of toys somewhere at the back of her wardrobe, or, maybe it was in her mum’s. There must be a Smurf somewhere too. If she found them she could put them in a box and start an experiment of her own. 

Grinning, because digging around in her wardrobe meant digging up her art supplies too, she scrubbed her scalp with more vigour and was done faster than usual.

Wrapped in her robe, Rose found what she was looking for in two shoe boxes underneath her clothes. The Smurf was sticking his tongue out at her, his hands behind his ears. It was a gift from Shareen, a silly joke, really, that had had them in stitches. Her art supplies consisted of an assortment of pencils, a soft rubber, two different sizes of good-quality sketchpads, and a set of water-soluble coloured pencils that Mum had got her because they were affordable, in contrast to the tiny,prohibitively expensive pots of watercolours. At the time, she’d been disappointed because she’d been looking forward to painting with proper water-colours, like real artists, but now she was glad. The pencils seemed like more manageable tool to rekindle her creativity.

“Rose, lunch is ready!” Mum called just as she was about to restore the chaos to the bottom of her wardrobe. She put the cheeky Smurf into the pocket of her tracksuit bottoms and went to join her mum in the lounge. But the food smelled great, even out in the hall, so she went straight to the kitchen instead to see what was on the menu. Howard had cooked the previous night, providing them with plenty of leftovers, enough to last them for several days.

“Howard’s made broccoli mac and cheese,” Mum said, pulling a casserole out of the oven. It was a small dish, just enough for the two of them. Howard had prepared it and left Mum with instructions for how to finish it so the cheese crust didn’t get chewy. Sometimes she thought he was too good to be true.

“Yum,” Rose said, helping her mum plate the food.

They sat at the table in the lounge, a glass of simple wine each,. Such proper Sunday sit-downs were rare, and Rose enjoyed the quiet.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Mum said, touching her arm.

“Yeah, I still can’t quite believe it.” _All of it. The money, John, the living toys._

“But that’s not all of it, is it?” Mum pressed. “Are you sure Jimmy didn’t… threaten you in some way?”

“Absolutely sure.”

Mum sighed and ate a few bites. The food was excellent; Howard had improved the old recipe with Dijon mustard, and both the broccoli and the pasta were cooked to perfection.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Who says I don’t want to talk about it?”

Mum snorted. “Sweetheart. The day I don’t know what’s going on will be the day that… well. I wouldn’t be a good mum if I didn’t know when you’re upset.”

“It’s spooky, you know. Sometimes. How well you know me.”

“All part of the job. You wait until you have kids of your own, then you’ll see it’s perfectly normal.”

Rose put her fork down. “What is _it_ that we should talk about?”

“Not Jimmy. Not the money.” She took another forkful, then sipped her wine. “There is something else. That friend you went to for help last night.”

Rose laughed. “How do you do that?” _So much for not telling her about John_. Now that she had an idea that a man was involved, she wouldn’t back down easily, and, what was worse, she’d know when she didn’t tell her everything. So Rose told her. She might as well make the best of it and keep on top of it.

“And he did that for you? Just like that?”

Rose pushed the remains of her meal around on her plate. Mum had taught her not to waste or play with her food, and she forced herself to scoop up some of the delicious food with her fork. “He asked me for a drawing in return,” Rose eventually said. “It’s a joke.”

“You’re sharing jokes?” Her mother’s large blue eyes grew even wider.

Rose shrugged and dropped the fork again. “Mum, I know it sounds strange. The age difference is huge and he’s in mourning. I get all that, yeah?”

“He’s married,” Mum added.

She sighed. “I know.” She slumped in her chair. “I don’t seem able to get anything right. With men I mean.”

“Oh sweetheart. I just… I just want you to be happy.”

“What if I were happy with him? Just for the sake of argument?”

Mum sipped her wine. “Well, if no one gets hurt in the process — a wife, for example — I suppose… No, that sounds wrong. I’d be happy for you, if it worked out. In that case. Of course I’d be happy, sweetheart.”

“Although he’s old enough to be… well. My father?”

Mum gasped and fidgeted on her chair.

“You don’t think that I’m looking for him to… because I grew up without a dad?” Rose asked, horrified. She’d done a bit of psychology at school, and the Electra complex had been one of the topics they’d discussed.

Her mum made a disgusted face and they dissolved into giggles.

“No, love, I don’t think so. I think that you can’t choose who you fall in love with. It’s a rare gift, true love, and who are we to throw that away. It happens far too often,” Mum said eventually.

Of all the reactions Rose had pictured, this certainly had not been among them. “Have you ever had a relationship like that?”

“With your father. And we bickered far too often.” Her mum’s expression became wistful. “But we never went to bed angry with each other.”

Rose smiled. “That’s good.”

“So. John.”

Rose leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know, Mum. I… I like him. There’s a connection, and I really like him, but I’m not sure he’d even look at me that way. As you said, he’s lost his kids, and I’m not sure about his wife.” 

“All I’m saying is be careful. If it works out that’s fine. But I don’t want you to break your heart over a man who doesn’t return the feeling.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

She thought, again, how lucky her mother was to have found a man like Howard. They were good for each other but still knew how to live their own lives.

“Actually, I’m not sure I want anyone in my life now. I don’t want to muck up school a second time,” Rose said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/186098.html)


	9. Chapter 9

Her mother went out after lunch. Howard played football on what he himself called an old men’s team, and Rose assured her that she would be fine by herself. She was looking forward to reading her new book and maybe testing her long-dormant skills at drawing.

Rose had completely forgotten about the Smurf until he poked her in the thigh as she stretched on her bed to reach for the book. She rolled over onto her back and dug the little guy out of the pocket of her tracksuit bottoms. “Hey Cheeky,” she said, suddenly remembering the name she and Shareen had given him. “Let’s find you a box, hmm?”

With some luck, her search for an unused shoe box beneath her bed would prove fruitful. She usually kept the sturdier of the boxes for storage, and she sometimes covered them with wrapping paper if she didn’t like the design of the box. That was cheaper by far than buying some of the fancy boxes they sold at WHSmith’s, and it gave her something to do.

The box she had in mind was filled with a collection of the tiny glass tubes of perfume samples. How mad she’d been for them a few years ago. She opened one or two of the tubes, recoiling in disgust. They were far too sweet for her taste. She chucked the tiny bottles out and placed Cheeky in the box. If he stopped sticking his tongue out he might try to get out of the box, but the walls were high enough to prevent him from doing that.

She turned on the telly in the lounge for some background noise as she sat down with her sketch pad and pencils. She filled the first sheet quickly with squiggles and strokes to get a feeling for how the pencils behaved on the paper, and to jog her muscle memory. The movements had once come so easily to her, and in a short time, she’d filled a second sheet. In between her shapeless exercises there were spheres and cubes with proper shading and shadows.

Rose smiled to herself. There might be hope yet.

The next sheet was filled with more audacious subjects: apples, her glass of water, even a rough study of her left hand, and, finally, an eye. It looked at her, and when she removed some of the graphite with her soft rubber, the eye took on an even more life-like quality. And she realised that this was the beginning of a face that had appeared in her dreams. It was the weary, old eye of the man with the scraggly beard.

Turning to a blank sheet in the big sketchbook, she quickly outlined the shape of his face. It was a bit tricky to get his jawline right because of the beard, and the proportions of the facial features were a bit off at first, but soon enough his face took shape and became recognisable. To her, at least. There was no one she could ask if the likeness was good because no one knew him.

There was one thing she could do, however. She could draw someone others knew too. If they recognised the person instantly, she could assume that she’d captured the old man’s face faithfully as well. Or at least she hoped so.

It was funny. Portraits were the trickiest things to draw, and particularly after not having drawn for so long. She’d not expected it to feel so comfortable, so easy. But after another hour, Mickey was grinning at her from the page.

She sat back, rubbing her eyes. While she’d been working, she hadn’t been aware of how tired they’d become, and she closed them for a few minutes.

So she still had it.

Rose smiled softly to herself.

The idea of sketching John occurred to her briefly, but she quickly discarded it. That seemed far too obsessive a thing to do. It was a far better idea to sketch the younger man from her dream, the one with the messy hair.

She went to the kitchen to put on the kettle and en route to the bathroom stopped by in her room. This time, Cheeky hadn’t slipped her mind, and she bent over the box, expecting him to still be sticking his tongue out at her. Instead he jumped up at her wagging his fingers with his thumbs stuck in his ears. Then he stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry at her. That was when he froze.

Rose blinked.

She knew she was wide awake. Carefully, she reached out to touch the little fellow’s white croissant-shaped hat. Cheeky tipped over stiffly and hit the cardboard with a dull thud muffled further by the duvet the box was sitting on. He was just an ordinary Smurf now, but she swore he’d been sitting, contemplating his large left foot before he’d noticed her and… done his thing.

Fumbling for the lid, she put it on, grabbed her handbag and, the box safely under her arm, hurried to the bus stop. There was only one thing she could do now.

The bus ride seemed interminable and wasn’t made any better by a bickering German couple who were looking for _The Globe Theatre_. Rose normally kept to herself, but they sounded angrier than their guttural language normally did, so she asked them if she could help. It was really just to shut them up. Their English was good enough so she gave them directions, which essentially involved them getting off at the next stop.

 _The Bookshop_ was open. She’d hoped it would be, but she’d never stopped to check the opening hours. Of course that didn’t mean that John was there too.

Naoko certainly was, and she recognised her. “Hello again,” the shopgirl said.

“Hi,” Rose said, feeling a little sheepish. She should have brought something aside from the mystery in the box. “Is John in?”

“Yeah, he’s fixing toys in the office. I’ll go and get him,” she said. The shop was moderately busy. The mild weather had lured quite a few shoppers into the city, but most of them would be flocking to the usual hot spots. Tenison Court was still busy, and the cafés in the area had all set up tables and chairs in the sunshine.

“Actually, no. Wait. Can I get you something? Coffee, tea?” Rose asked, touching the girl’s arm to stop her from going. She quickly dropped her hand when she realised that the gesture might be too familiar.

Naoko looked at her curiously.

“I owe John a favour,” Rose explained. That would have be enough of an explanation.

“Is that so,” Naoko said. “Tea would be great. And a cookie, if that’s not asking too much. Maggie’s are divine.”

Rose nodded automatically. “Sure. Any preferences?”

“The cranberry ones are great. The best, if you ask me.”

Rose smiled and turned to leave.

“Shall I keep this for you?” Naoko offered, holding her hands out for Cheeky’s box.

Rose hesitated for a few beats. She didn’t really want to let the box out of her hands, just in case. But she had a feeling that Cheeky wasn’t going to wake any time soon, so she passed the box to Naoko. “Thanks.”

Maggie’s was busy, so it took her a while to return to _The Bookshop_ with her treats. John had left his office, and when he spotted her, his jaw went slightly slack. He clearly hadn’t expected her, and when Naoko came to collect her prize his expression became even more priceless.

“I brought you some too,” Rose said, holding out the cardboard tray containing two more cups of tea. “Hi.”

He grinned then. “Coming to celebrate after all?” he asked.

Rose laughed. “Not really. I won’t celebrate until the money’s where it belongs. But I’d be happy to treat you to more tea and sweets then.”

He took the tray and paper bag from her and gestured for her to precede him into his tiny office. To her surprise, the window there was also a backdoor into a small courtyard. A footstool and an old wooden crate on either side of it served as steps. Rose climbed across both of them carefully, and found herself in a quiet, leafy garden. The March sun only reached a small patch of it, and John had moved a cast iron table and a wooden folding chair there. After he’d set down the snack, he quickly provided a second chair. 

Rose looked up at the tall walls enclosing the tiny oasis. The windows belonged to offices and warehouses, which offered a certain degree of privacy. The plants in the courtyard lived in an assortment of pots and planters. They were undemanding evergreens, some creepers painting the brick walls green, but there were also some early daffodils in pots to add some colour.

“It’s lovely,” she said. “Your office.” She stuck the tip of her tongue into the corner of her mouth.

The gesture distracted john briefly. “Yeah. It’s the reason why I took the job. Here, would, you?” he asked, returning the tea and cookies to her so he could clear his toy-mending tools off the table. They were all on a tray so that was a task quickly accomplished.

He offered her a seat with a gallant gesture and served her a cup of tea and a cookie. “This is a surprise. A lovely surprise.”

Rose ducked her head, blushing. _Oh, you’re so far gone,_ she chided herself. “I believe in the living toys,” she blurted.

He stared at her. 

“I saw one move. And I came straight here. Naoko’s looking after him for me.”

John shook his head in bewilderment. “Explain.”

Rose quickly outlined the events that had led her to come find him. “My Smurf moved. And something else occurred to me,” she said, remembering her musings from her morning shower.

“The living toys are all made of plastic,” John concluded. “Just like your Smurf, Arthur is cast in the same mould. So is Lego and the action figures.”

“Yes!” she gasped. “Exactly.”

“I’m carrying out the same experiment. I bought some plastic toys last night and put them in shoeboxes. But mine didn’t move. At least, not that I know of.” He leaned back with a sigh and sipped his tea. “Of course, I should have brought the boxes, so I can keep an eye on them. They probably only move when they think they’re unobserved.”

“But if that were the case, wouldn’t most toys be moving all the time?” she argued. “While the kids are at school, out for footie practice, or sleeping?”

He frowned. “Yeah, wouldn’t they?” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “But what does make them move? Why did your Smurf move and my guys didn’t?”

“We don’t know that. They might have moved when you weren’t around. And not because of it.”

“You mean there are certain times when they move?” John asked, rolling his cup between his hands. It looked astonishingly small between in them, smaller than her own cup although it was the same size.

She shrugged. “Maybe. And it’s ever so brief. I’m sure that Arthur running across Sophie’s rug and hiding underneath her bedside table took longer than Cheeky jumping up to stick his tongue out at me.”

“Cheeky?” John chuckled.

Rose shrugged, blushing slightly.

“I wonder if Arthur moved. And if mine did, I’ll find out when I get home,” he said.

“I’m sure the kids will tell us the first chance they get,” Rose said, feeling that she was running out of things to say. The toys had been the reason why she’d come, and despite everything they were none the wiser now. If you didn’t count the fact that she had actually seen Cheeky move. She washed her awkwardness down with a sip of tea.

“I’d love to see them move, and I can’t wait to check if mine did,” John said. He’d stretched his long legs out in front of him, and Rose’s eyes travelled their denim-clad length to the slightly rumpled white linen shirt he was wearing. His sleeves were rolled up, and from the lack of shadows beneath the material she could tell that he wasn’t wearing a vest. 

She looked away quickly, so it didn’t look like she was staring. He looked great, and the way the soft material of his shirt draped over his chest and shoulders told of toned muscle. 

“Well, how would you know?” Rose asked, trying to get her thoughts back on track. The idea that he’d gone and bought toys was adorable. Picturing him in the toy department of _Henrik’s_ proved easy, but she tried to dismiss the image. It was too distracting. Instead, she tried to concentrate on the fact that he’d gone to buy toys, rather than using his kid’s. “If they moved, I mean. Your guys.”

“Oh, I marked the spot where I put them with a pencil. So unless they managed to return to their original spot I’d know if they’ve moved,” he said, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to soak up the sun.

Rose swallowed. “So, what are your guys?”

John told her about them without moving, and Rose chuckled at the ideas she had. The Centurion on the horse would certainly look good in pencil, with the Lego guy hitching a ride in the folds of the soldier’s cloak. Her fingers itched to get that image onto paper.

“You look amused,” John said. 

She hadn’t noticed him looking at her. “Yeah, I just had an idea for the picture I owe you.”

John chuckled. “You’re taking that quite seriously, aren’t you? You’ve provided me with tea and a delicious cookie.”

“I needed an excuse to see you.”

He stared at her, then his face turned into a map of laugh lines. His grin was so infectious that she forgot about her embarrassment. “And here I’d thought the books were interesting.”

Rose didn’t know what to say to his dry response. He’d given her an out, although his brief hesitation made it clear that this wasn’t the first thing that come to his mind. She shrugged. “None of the books have the answers to my question, though, do they?”

He guffawed. “True.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. 

“Do you think we’ll ever find out what makes them tick?” Rose asked.

He exhaled. “I’m not sure. But I’m quite enjoying the mystery and the hunt for an answer.” He looked at her, and she was so arrested by the depth and wisdom in his eyes that it took her a moment to register the hidden meaning in his words.

“You do?”

His grin softened into a gentle smile. “Yeah.”

“It’s a lovely challenge.”

“The shop doesn’t really offer that to you, does it?” John said. “You’re clever and inquisitive. You must be bored to tears there.”

Rose massaged the back of her neck. “It’s good money. And I need it for when I go back to school in September.”

“Ah,” he said, studying the tangle of his fingers where they rested on his stomach.

“That makes me sound like a teenager.” _Strictly speaking, she still was one._

“You sound quite perfect to me.”

Her head snapped up.

“Sorry,” he said, straightening. There was a tension in his jaw that had driven away the banter .

“That’s a lovely thing to say,” Rose whispered, hoping that thanking him for the compliment would relax him. It worked a little.

He finished his tea and brushed the crumbs of his cookie onto the ground. Some birds came fluttering towards the offering almost immediately.

“I’m not officially working today. I just came in to get some work done on the toys,” John said, gesturing towards the tray which he’d aside earlier. “Why don’t you browse while I finish this. Then we can go and check if my guys moved. If you want.”

His suggestion caught her so off-guard that it took her a moment to understand that her deflection of the awkward situation had worked. “Great idea,” she said, standing and collecting the empty containers.

“So you’re… I’m sure you have something better to do.”

“Nothing better than our mystery, no.” She tucked her tongue between her teeth.

John smiled up at her. “I’ll come and find you when I’m done.” Then he bent to retrieve the tray and put it on top of the wrought-iron tabletop. He looked over the tray to figure out what needed to be done before he started to work.

Rose climbed onto the box and through the window into the dim office. The dry smell of paper and dust welcomed her as she stepped carefully onto the footstool. Her eyes needed some time to adjust to the different light. She dropped the empty containers into the bin by the desk and entered the bookshop proper. It was surprising how many people there were. Every reading nook was occupied, and quite a few children occupied the floor space in front of the shelves where they had found their treasures. It was amazing how engrossed some of them were in the printed worlds. 

Rose smiled. It would be nice to be able to lose herself in a book like that, without a care in the world. But of course she could do that now. Just like John had said, the work at the store was anything but demanding intellectually, and when she left it after her shift she left all thoughts of work behind her. She got on well with the other shop girls, and she had learned to brush off memories of rude patrons. Discussing them during lunch break usually did the trick.

Now that Jimmy had paid her back she didn’t have to worry about her own debts any more. And what were books for if not to escape the real world for an hour or two? 

Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the lovely display table of the _Miss Carline_ books. Her eyes wandered over the cover illustrations; the artist had aimed for a look that was completely different from the Potter books. The design was understated, the majority of the cover was white. If it hadn’t been for the lettering she would have mistaken the book for an adult novel, but she supposed that that was the point: give the young readers the feeling that they were reading a grown-up book.

Picking one copy up at random, the one with a vintage camera on the cover. It was the kind you held in front of your body to look down on the viewer and that had two lenses. The title looked hand-lettered, which betrayed the grown-up feel of the cover image. _Miss Carline: Mnemonic Camera._

Rose thumbed through the book to check for illustrations, but there were none. The chapter headings were set in the same font used on the cover and had an almost Irvingesque ring to them.

“Which one is it?” John asked. He was standing rather closely behind her because the space was cramped. The _Miss Carline_ books were popular, and short arms were reaching for the volumes she was blocking. John helped a freckled boy by passing him what he wanted. 

Rose showed him the cover.

He nodded. “It’s one of the best, although it’s not written by Anna Innes.”

“There is more than one author for this series?” Rose asked. She felt stupid for not having noticed that vital fact.

“The first three volumes are by Anna Innes. The other ones were commissioned and authorised by her family. The author is James D Faulkner. He’s doing a great job with them,” John said.

“Obviously.”

“You really should start with the first book, though,” John said. He reached for a copy with the profile of a woman’s head and gave it to her. The title simply read _Miss Carline_. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, let’s,” Rose said. “Just let me pay for this.”

For a moment he looked as if he were going to object, but it passed and they left the shop in Naoko’s care. 

Twenty minutes later, they were standing outside what looked liked a school. A school right out of a Dickens story, no less, not one of those post-nuclear winter nightmare buildings like her old school. This one even had a turret and gables and looked as if it had lots of nooks and crannies. She’d have loved studying here. “What are we doing here?” she asked.

“This is where I live,” he said. “It was converted into flats a few years ago, in case you were wondering.”

Rose laughed. “Sounds great.”

She followed him up the wide staircase to the second floor where he unlocked a door that was too small to open on a class room. John told her that this used to be the school librarian’s office.

“No kidding,” Rose said.

John just shrugged and gestured for her to precede him. The wooden floor had been stripped and redone but still creaked beneath her steps. She put weight on her feet deliberately, enjoying the sound. As a council brat, she wasn’t used to a sound she thought was homey. The hall was spacious and lit by a set of three windows with the original glazing intact. 

John led her to the kitchen to show her the three boxes. She briefly held her breath as she looked at the Centurion, the horse and the pharaoh. There were no pencil marks to be seen.

“Oh,” John said, sitting heavily on a chair.

“They haven’t moved,” Rose said. “Why haven’t they?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/186753.html)


	10. Chapter 10

“I didn’t make it up,” Rose insisted after a few moments’ silence. “Cheeky really did move.” She held out the shoe box she’d been carrying around all day.

He looked up at her, tracing the grain of the polished table top with his fingers. “I know. I believe you.”

“How can you? Believe me? I’m not one of the children.”

“No, you’re not,” he said. She definitely was no child. She was the most gorgeous young woman he’d met in a long time. He’d noticed her figure when she’d been wearing the form-fitting _Henrik’s_ uniform. Today, she had on a pair of well-worn loose jeans he guessed she’d owned for a while. The baggy denim hid her curves and her hoodie was also slightly oversized, hiding her chest as well.

Rose stared at him. _Had she caught him checking her out?_ He lowered his eyes to where he was worrying one of the deeper furrows in the wood with his nail. 

“I believe you, just like you believed the children.”

Rose sighed and set the box down beside the others. “Give me a pencil.”

“What do you want to do?” he asked, looking at her. Her lips were slightly pursed and he had the sudden urge to kiss her. He blinked.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting straighter. What a liberating thought. He wanted to kiss her, and he wanted to hold her. He wanted to feel alive. Clearing his throat, he gestured at the pencil he’d left next to his dream journal. “You can use that one.”

He stood and went to the fridge when she stretched and reached for the pencil. The pocket in the door held a bottle of white wine which he’d put in there a few days ago. It was nicely chilled by now. _What are you thinking? She must think you want to get her drunk and so she’ll be easy prey._ “Water?” he asked, reaching for the bottle of Scottish spring water instead.

“Can I have a cuppa? I feel a little chilled,” Rose said. She bent over her shoe box, which she’d pulled towards her so she could trace the outline of Cheeky’s feet onto the cardboard.

He closed the fridge door. “Of course you can,” he said. He busied himself preparing the tea.

“You’re very quiet,” Rose said. He could feel her eyes on him, watching as he moved around the kitchen to fill the kettle and get the milk out of the fridge. Just as he was about to drop the bags into a mug each she said, “No!”

That startled him and he realised that he hadn’t commented on her previous statement. The two tea bags disappeared inside his fist. “What? Is something wrong?”

Rose smiled and joined him at the counter. “Yeah. Fill the mugs with hot water first. That way, the tea will stay hot longer.”

“And add the milk after?” he asked with one eyebrow raised.

She smiled. “I don’t care, but I suppose it makes sense.”

“Well, how do you do it?”

She looked at him for the longest time and just when he thought he’d made the worst pun, she said, “You know, I have no idea. It’s just something that Mum does. Warming the mugs.”

“Ah,” he said, looking away to check on the kettle. It sat there, switched on, but so far none of the telltale sounds of water coming to a boil could be heard. He put the two tea bags down beside the mugs.

Rose wandered out into the lounge and he followed her. The grand piano he’d positioned underneath the gallery caught her attention first. She turned around as if she’d expected him to follow her. “Do you play?” Her gaze travelled the length of black and white keys, but she didn’t touch them. Still, he’d never seen anything as sensual as a woman’s fingers gliding over the Ivory-covered keys.

“Yes,” he said.

“There’s no sheet music.”

“These days, I prefer to improvise, see where my imagination takes me.”

“Oh,” she said, taking a step backwards, awed by his words.

He hadn’t meant to intimidate her. She’d asked, and he’d answered. “It sounds more impressive than it really is. The thing is, most times I sit down to play I can’t seem to decide what to play, so I just… play.” He looked at the pile of sheet music that had built up against the bare brick wall.

Rose laughed. “It seems unlike you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah. You seem to know exactly what you want, what to do next.”

He tensed a little. _Had she noticed the change in his demeanour since he’d thought about kissing her? Was she testing him?_ “I don’t always. It’s relaxing, and I only do it when I’m by myself.”

Then she discovered the stairs leading up to the gallery. “There’s an upstairs?”

“Every decent library has one, doesn’t it?” he said, folding his arms in front of his body to anchor himself to propriety.

“I suppose so.” She touched the newel post and stepped into the lounge proper. It was still pretty much empty because he hadn’t had time yet, or a reason, to make the room look like his lounge rather than a library. There was only a sofa in front of the fireplace in the southwest corner, and his reading nook by the three steps that led to his bedroom. 

The late winter sun filtered through the tall gothic windows, filling the vast space with gorgeous light. The brick walls seemed to glow as if they were lit by fire light. The carvings of leaves and fantastical animals in the dark wood framing the doors and the nooks that used to hold bookcases seemed to come alive.

Rose looked at the gallery, which was really on the only part of the room that did the room’s former function justice. The bookcases there were the original Victorian era ones, and the shelves were filled with his own books.

He stepped up behind Rose and touched the small of her back. “Look,” he said, gazing at the blue ceiling and the dark rafters suspending it above them.

“It’s gorgeous.”

When the kettle went off and the piercing sound grounded him he noticed that he hadn’t moved his hand. He dropped it immediately.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing at the sofa. “I’m afraid I’ve yet to start the fire. The hearth is pretty boring to look at without one. Help yourself to something to read if you want.”

“All we have is a gas fire.”

“I should get some perspective then,” he said as he went to the kitchen to warm the mugs and brew the tea.

When he returned, Rose had made herself comfortable on his sofa. She had taken off her trainers and drawn up her legs.

“Would you like a blanket?” he asked, passing her the tea. Then he sat down beside her, debating whether to light the fire. There was enough kindling and wood in the large basket he kept within reach of the fireplace. Preparing the hearth would give him something to do, but he felt drawn to Rose on the sofa.

“No, the tea will do. Thanks,” she said, gingerly accepting the mug. She blew over the steam rising from the blonde tea but didn’t try it. “So you moved here after…?”

“After I lost my family, yes,” he finished the sentence for her. It felt good to be able to say it without a lump forming in his throat and the feeling of having missed something vital, something that he might have used to save their lives. He knew, of course, that nothing could have saved them, and sometimes he’d wished that it had been him instead of them. They’d had their lives ahead of them, all three of them.

“You… you lost your entire family?”

“Yeah. My wife and my son and my daughter,” he said softly, realising only now that she must have assumed he’d only lost a child. He was relieved to be able to talk about them to her and he was grateful that she didn’t drown him with pity. But he was also afraid of having overwhelmed her; and, worse, of having earned her pity now. 

“What happened?” Rose asked softly.

He looked at her. He wanted to tell her, but despite his newfound peace of mind he couldn’t. He supposed it was his subconscious trying to protect him. It also didn’t really feel right to burden her with this story, particularly because of the way he felt about her. He didn’t want her pity. He wanted _her._

When she touched his knee he jumped and the tea in his mug nearly sloshed over the rim. 

“I’m sorry, I’m prying. I didn’t mean to.”

“I can’t tell you. Yet,” he said, placing his hand on hers. He gave her fingers a light squeeze. It was surprising how small her hand felt beneath his, how delicate the bones seemed.

“How long has it been?”

He swallowed. “Two years.”

“I lost my dad when I was little. I don’t even remember him. I live off Mum’s memories, and the photos we have,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s a hollow around your heart, yeah?”

She knew. She understood, at least to some degree, the magnitude of his loss.

He sipped his tea. “My best friend, Phineas, he’s going to be a father. He told me this morning and he wants me to be the babe’s godfather.”

“That’s lovely,” she said. Then she looked at him, tipping her head to the side so one of her plaited pig tails travelled down her shoulder. “Isn’t it?”

“It is, yeah. It’s going to be nice to have a child in my life again. Even if he won’t be mine.”

She hadn’t moved her hand, and he took this as encouragement to wrap his fingers around it. Rose returned the gesture by freeing her thumb and brushing it over his.

His mouth went dry. “Rose.”

“Yeah?”

He looked at their joined hands. “This is…”

“You started it.”

“What?” His head snapped up and he looked at her. There was a playfulness about her amber eyes, but also something else.

“You took my hand.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

“So you’re not… going to push me away?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, I’m… so much younger than you. And we’ve only just met.”

“And?” he prompted, sensing that there was more. There should be more.

“And I wasn’t planning on this,” she added eventually.

He straightened, his hand slipping away from hers. “This?”

“I didn’t want any distraction for when I go back to school. I’ve been working so hard to get to this point.”

She was helping him find out who he was. His loss had touched her, but she wouldn’t let it deter her. He blinked.

“I wouldn’t expect, or want, you to neglect your schooling,” he said, “over _this._ ”

She smiled in relief; it softened the expression in her eyes.

“What is this?” he asked eventually.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Something powerful.”

“Is it l—” he began but found himself stopped by her slightly cool hand clamped over his mouth. She’d been so fast he’d not seen it coming. 

“Let’s not rush things,” she said. “Let’s enjoy what we have, yeah?”

He nodded, and her hand moved along with him until he peeled it gently off his mouth to place a kiss in her palm. It was indeed something powerful, something truly beautiful. He wrapped his fingers around her hand, not intending to let go of her this time.

He laughed.

Rose tucked the tip of her tongue into the corner of her lips and watched him with sparkling eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“Us,” he said. “We don’t want to rush into things, yet here we are, two days after we met.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Isn’t it supposed to be like this?”

He sobered. “What is?”

“First sight and everything.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never…”

She shook her head, smiling softly to herself. “Me either.”

“May I kiss you?” he asked. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all afternoon.” The shiver that went through her made her hand tremble in his. “Unless it’s too much too fast,” he added quickly.

“No it’s just that no one’s ever asked before.”

He grinned. “I suppose I’ve never asked either.”

Rose guided their joined hands to her cheeks and smoothed his palm against her cheek, holding it there. He brushed her soft skin with the pad of his thumb, hoping that the cut he’d got repairing toys wouldn’t irritate her skin too much. Then he leaned forwards, meeting her halfway, and their lips joined in a kiss.

It was chaste at first, cautious, each worried that it would turn out to be a dream, but when the tension left Rose’s lips, he relaxed too. It was a lingering kiss, the sort he could lose himself in for hours at a time. It was enough just to feel her softness and take in the berry-scent of her skin.

He jumped a little when her fingertips touched the side of his neck, and he broke the kiss.

“I’m not sure I want to stop,” Rose said.

“Then we won’t.” He shifted closer to her and kissed her again. She opened up beneath him almost immediately, and while he was disappointed at first, the feel of her soft, wet tongue against his was so much better.

Rose adjusted her position too, and soon they were wrapped up in each other, getting to know each other through the movement of their tongues. She tasted of tea, and he was glad to discover that she didn’t smoke. He kept her still with a hand on her cheek. If he allowed her to intensify the kiss he was sure that there would be no stopping himself. He’d want more than to just kiss her. But that was definitely moving too fast.

When they had to come up for breath, he rested his forehead against hers. Her breath brushed his skin in ragged puffs, as he was sure his did to her.

“I love this,” he said, grinning and running his index finger over her swollen lips. “I’ve missed kissing and cuddling so much.”

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. He had the impression that the boys she’d been with so far hadn’t thought much of kissing and cuddling. They were fast in a different way, one that he’d been on the verge of choosing. But Rose deserved so much more.

“I have this thing coming up in a couple of weeks,” he said. “The annual spring ball at the BM.”

“BM?”

“British Museum,” he explained.

“I had no idea they had something like that.”

“It sounds grander than it is.”

“Why are you going?” she said, smoothing her hand above his rapidly beating heart.

“I’m one of the curators, and as such I have to be there for fund-raising. I’ll have to charm all the rich ladies out of their money,” he said.

“Wait, I thought you owned _The Bookshop_?”

“I don’t. I’m only looking after it for a friend of mine. It’s a kind of sabbatical, for both of us really,” he explained.

“Well, what department do you work in?” she asked.

“Ancient Egypt.”

She laughed. “I should have guessed. The Centurion and the pharaoh.”

His jaw went slack. He hadn’t thought about his choice of characters until right then.

Rose giggled and kissed him. “You’re adorable.”

He smiled, and for the first time in ages he felt like his smile spread across his face, all the way up to his eyes.

“You have a beautiful smile,” Rose said, cupping his cheek.

“That’s about the only thing that’s beautiful about me,” he said, taking her hand to place another kiss on it, “but who am I to argue. I only have to wash this daft old face, I don’t have look at it.” He flipped his earlobes with his fingers. Unsure of what to do to complain about his nose, he hesitated. Rose stepped in by placing a kiss on its tip.

“Let me be the judge of that, yeah?” She straightened his collar and smoothed the wrinkled linen against his chest. Her hands were pleasantly warm through the material. He realised it was getting chilly in the room now that the sun was almost down. He hadn’t noticed the room go dark.

“I’ll light a the fire after all,” he said.

Rose dropped her hands into her lap. “I suppose I should be leaving anyway. I have the early shift tomorrow.”

He could have slapped himself for assuming that she’d want to stay. It was better this way. They were rushing into this as it was, so they might as well pace themselves now that they were pretty sure how they felt about each other. He’d never dreamed that the attraction he felt for the young woman could possibly be mutual, much less that he’d ever feel this way about anyone again. He should be, and was, thankful for that.

“How are you going to get home?”

“There’s a bus stop down the road, and my stop is just outside the estate,” she said. “I’ll be fine, John. It’s not that late and life on the estate has taught me a thing or two.”

He ran his hand through his short hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I don’t mean to smother you.”

“No, it’s lovely. Knowing that you care,” she said.

“I do.”

Rose smiled and leaned in for another kiss. It, too, was slow and lazy, and although he wanted it to last, he broke it eventually. It was either that or he would be unable to let her go home.

“I’ll leave Cheeky with you,” Rose said as she put on her trainers. “If that’s all right. Assuming that you don’t have anything better to do.”

“I can _think_ of something better to do,” he said, but caught himself. “But that’s not a good idea right now.” Besides, it involved a trip to the chemist for a box of condoms. It was also far too soon for that. 

Rose laughed. “I’ll give you my phone number,” she said when they were in the hall. “So you can call me in case the guys move.”

“Just for that?” he asked, stealing another kiss.

“You’re right. You are daft,” she laughed. 

“Oi!”

They went back to the kitchen where she scribbled her mobile number on the back of an envelope while he entered his number on her mobile.

“Safe journey,” he said, kissing her.

She hugged him, and he held her close. She felt small against him, and completely different than Nell had. Kissing the side of her neck he hoped that his wife would forgive him for loving another woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/187578.html)


	11. Chapter 11

For the entire journey home, Rose ghosted her fingers over her lips hoping to retain the feel of the press of his lips against them. He was a great kisser, and he reminded her of how much she loved kissing. What amazed her most was that he’d been so unhurried about, as if he enjoyed it just as much as she. Neither Jimmy or Mickey had seemed to take any pleasure in kissing, pushing their tongue into her mouth trying to quickly ramp up their arousal. It had worked sometimes, when she was feeling horny, but kissing had inevitably led to sex, it had never been just about being close.

John, on the other hand, clearly enjoyed it. He’d withdrawn both to rest and to give her a chance to explore his mouth. She’d been awkward about it at first because she wasn’t used to it, and she hoped she hadn’t made too much of a fool of herself. This whole kissing thing alone showed how much more experienced a lover he was than she. All she’d ever done was lie back or give head. The boys had chased their orgasm, and if she was lucky, they’d remembered her. More often than not, she’d pretended, particularly with Mickey so he wouldn’t feel bad. She’d been too timid to ask for release, too afraid they’d break up with her if she was too demanding.

Maybe it was supposed to be this way, and all the sex advice columns in the magazines were mere propaganda.

She was protecting the boy-men who took so much but hardly ever thought to return the gesture.

She could tell that John was different, and she knew that if she hadn’t left when she did things would have progressed a lot further. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that yet. Not to mention that she didn’t have any condoms any more. No matter how much she trusted John, and regardless of the pill she took every night, she didn’t want to give herself to him so quickly. That things had progressed as rapidly as they had was astounding enough.

She hadn’t planned on falling in love.

Her phone rang, and she fumbled for it in her handbag. It was Mum.

“Where are you, sweetheart?”

“On my way home. I went out after all, the afternoon was just too beautiful,” she said, infusing her voice with too much cheer.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” she said. Of course her mum would notice the monumental change even over the phone.

“I’m just asking because there’s a party at one of Howard’s neighbours, and there’s no food at the flat.”

Oh. “I’ll pick up some chips on my way. Anything we need from the shop?” The chippy and the twenty-four hour corner shop were next door to each other.

“Just some milk, I think,” Mum said. “You could come if you like. There’s all sorts of people.”

“No, thanks, early shift tomorrow, remember?”

When they’d hung up, Rose remembered something John had said about a spring ball at the British Museum. Their discussion of his real job had got in the way of the ball, and she had a feeling he’d not just mentioned it casually. She drew up his number and called him.

“Rose?” he asked, his voice laced with alarm.

She cupped her forehead. “I’m fine. I’m on the bus. And I was wondering.”

“About?”

“The spring ball.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d make the event less awful for me by going with me? I’m not much of a dancer, but the food is great and we can sneak off for a tour of the galleries at night,” he said.

_A tour of the galleries at night. Sneak off._

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” he said.

“How did it sound?” she asked, worrying the nail of her thumb with her teeth.

“Like I wanted to whisk you away to a dark corner to have sex up against the wall.”

A rush of excitement gave her a pleasant twinge in her lower abdomen. The idea of having sex with him up against a wall in the darkened, empty galleries of the museum did hold a certain appeal. He didn’t need to know that, though. Not yet, anyway. “You, Mr Curator, have a dirty little mind.”

She could hear his soft chuckle and pictured his face crumpling up slightly. “Yeah,” she said.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll go to the ball with you. I can’t allow you to suffer through it alone, can I?”

“Fantastic!” he said, emphasising the second syllable. When he thanked her, his tone was mellower, though.

After she’d hung up, Rose realised that she didn’t have anything to wear for the occasion, nor did she know when the event was being held. The latter was not much of a problem; her social calendar wasn’t very full these days. The former might prove tricky, but if she wasn’t mistaken there was a sale on at Henrik’s at the moment, and combined with her employee discount she might be able to afford one of the less expensive labels.

-:-

9 March 2005

The cheque didn’t bounce.

At first Rose thought she was imagining things when she saw the ￡800 listed on the income side of her bank statement. To make sure that she wasn’t seeing things she gave it to her mum to check, but just as the figures on the cheque hadn’t faded, the figures on the statement didn’t change either.

Rose hugged her mum with a whoop of joy. Her financial worries were truly over now, and since she’d already made payments to her creditors that meant that after paying off the rest and paying back Mum she’d have some money left. Which she could use to buy a nice dress for the ball.

“Have you told Jimmy what you’ve decided yet?” Mum asked when she let go of her.

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach, almost destroying her earlier sense of relief. She had been putting off making that particular call. Jimmy had promised her that the money came with no strings attached, but she knew him too well to believe this chapter of her life was truly over now.

“I’ll call him straight away,” Rose said. She found his business card and dialled his number.

“Rose. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sorry. The money is in my account. Thank you.”

“Told you it would be,” he said, but his tone was neutral. Could he really have changed that much? “Have you thought about my offer?”

She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her thumping heart. It left her breathless and she was afraid she’d be unable to get the words out. “I have. And I must decline. Your trust is flattering, but I have no idea what managing a band means and I want to focus on school. I’m sorry.”

There was a short pause before he said, “I’d thought you would, but I had to ask. I’m sorry to hear it, though.”

Mum, who’d been listening, glared at her not to cave in. “I can’t.”

“That’s okay. Look, love, we have this gig on the 19th. I’ll leave a couple of tickets at the box office for you, and backstage passes,” he said.

“That’s kind of you but that won’t change my mind.” Besides, John had texted her with the date of the ball. It was the same day as Jimmy’s gig. She could always legitimately claim she had a prior engagement. Not that it mattered. She was past having to explain herself to Jimmy.

“I know. It’s just… a peace offering. And to say thank you for considering our offer. It’s not just me, you know, it’s for the lads too.”

Mum’s expression became thunderous. He was manipulating her, but she wasn’t going to rise to it. “I have no experience at all, Jimmy. You’re better off with someone who knows the ropes of the business.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But everyone has to start from somewhere.”

“Not me, I don’t.”

“Come to the gig. Please.”

“You haven’t been able to find anyone else to manage the band, have you?” Rose said. It was so obvious all of a sudden. So she was their last resort. That was more of an insult than flattery. She looked at her mum for help. Mum shook her head and made a cut-throat gesture, mouthing, “Not in a million years!”

Jimmy was quiet. “See how well you know me?”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why I’m telling you no, Jimmy. I’m not going to manage your band. I’m afraid I have to go now. Best of luck. Bye.”

When she dropped her hand from her ear she exhaled, her eyes fluttering shut.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” her mum said.

“Yeah,” she said, feeling drained. The joy of being free of debt had instantly evaporated.

“Come on, now,” Mum said, wrapping her arm around her shoulders. “We should go out for a drink tonight. I’m buying.”

“That’s… I’d like that, but I’m meeting John after work,” Rose said. They hadn’t discussed him since she’d told Mum. Rose was glad, because she’d needed the time to sort her thoughts about him.

“Oh?”

“I think we might be serious. About each other.”

Her mum let go of her. “How serious?”

Rose shrugged. “I’m not sure. He kissed me. And I kissed him back and it felt… right.”

Mum sighed. “Oh Rose. I’m happy for you, but please don’t rush into anything you’re not ready for. You’ve just told Jimmy you want to focus on school.”

“That’s different!” Rose cried.

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” she said, relaxing. “He’s a lot older, mature, and he knows how important a decent education is. He’s a curator at the British Museum.”

Mum huffed. “And his wife?”

“She died.”

“Oh, that poor man,” she said, mellowing towards him. She knew what losing a spouse was like. “Still. Don’t rush into anything. Particularly with that age difference.”

“Why is that all you can see?” Rose asked in frustration.

“Because I want you to make your own decisions, rather than relying on him to make them, or following him blindly because he’s oh so mature. I’ve seen it happen.”

Rose looked at her aghast. Some of what she said was true, but if her mum really thought she’d allow another man to walk right all over her again, she didn’t know her at all. She told her so.

Mum shook her head in defeat. “All I’m saying is, be careful. And use condoms.”

“Mum!”

“What? You want to go back to school. You’re about to pay your debts back. Don’t you think that a baby will throw a spanner in the works?”

“How stupid do you think I am?” Rose cried.

Mum caressed her cheek. “Not stupid, sweetheart. Just in love. Because that’s what you are, aren’t you?”

Rose felt like a deflating balloon. “It’s big and powerful.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mum said. “I hope this time you’ll be truly happy.”

Rose smiled softly at her. “Thanks.”

“We’ll have that drink another day then, okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her smile widening.

“And don’t forget to send me that money.”

“Mum!”

-:-

John had already locked up for the night when she knocked on the glass door. It was a cool and damp night, and she was shivering. She had underestimated the drop in temperature and left her warmer coat at home. After the dry warm air at _Henrik’s,_ the evening chill was like a slap in the face.

Rose clutched the presentation book to her chest, hoping that the damp wouldn’t damage the collection of pencil sketches and watercolours. She couldn’t decide which one to give him, so she’d brought all the sketches she’d made since Sunday, including the portraits of the men from her dream. He wasn’t going to choose them, of that she was sure, but she was proud of them, and she wanted to show off a little. 

John hurried towards the door with a huge grin on his face and fumbled with the key. He had already put on his coat, and Rose was disappointed for a few moments. She’d hoped to warm up in the shop despite the fact that _Henrik’s_ was only across the street.

John stopped briefly after they’d said hello as if unsure of what to do. Then he bent to give her a gentle kiss. More than the first time, his lips on hers sent shivers of pleasure through her that went straight to her core.

“Shall we?” he asked, still grinning.

“Where to?” she asked.

“There’s a lovely Indian place not far from here. I hope you like Indian food?”

“Love it. I could do with some warming Kali Dal. It’s freezing,” she whined.

John hesitated briefly before he put his arm around her. She snuggled up to him for comfort as much as warmth. This was really happening. John was taking her out to dinner.

“How are the guys?” she asked as they set off down the pedestrian-only roadway. The uneven pavement glistened with moisture, but unlike the first time she’d been here, the puddles and flagstones were now illuminated by the lights from the shops. At least this time they didn’t need an umbrella.

John laughed. “They’re behaving themselves a little too well. They haven’t moved.”

“Not even Cheeky?”

“Not even Cheeky.”

“Oh.”

They stopped. John dropped his arm and turned to face her. “Rose.”

Her heart, which had calmed a little, was starting to pound again. “Yeah?”

“I’ve missed you. And I really don’t want go to that restaurant,” he said.

“John,” she said, touching the soft material of his coat. It occurred to her that it must be his winter coat, judging by its thickness. It was hard to believe that just a couple of days ago they’d been sitting in the courtyard soaking up the sunshine. “It’s… I’m really rather hungry.”

“Of course,” he said. “I just…” He ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I must learn how to pace myself. Of course we’ll have dinner. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to rush you.”

“It’s not that,” Rose protested. The rush of damp that had ended in her knickers was proof that she wanted him too. If that was what he’d been trying to tell her. “I’d love to. It’s just. I’m really really hungry. Starving.”

His eyes widened.

“We should take it slowly anyway. I loved kissing you. And I’m afraid I have the early shift again tomorrow,” she said. She’d been able to make arrangements for it already so she had the whole weekend off. But that meant working a little more until then.

“You’re working crazy hours.”

“I have to if I want to have the weekend of the 19th off.”

“Oh, yes. Fantastic,” he grinned.

Eventually, her words sank in.

“The whole weekend?” he asked.

It was she who grinned then. She tucked the tip of her tongue into the corner of her mouth.

“I could kiss you!”

“Then why don’t you?” she asked.

He bent and swept down on her, cradling her face in his surprisingly warm hands as he kissed her. Unable to resist, Rose opened beneath him and shivered as he plunged his tongue in her mouth, dancing it around hers so deliciously that he left her dizzy and aroused. If she hadn’t been so hungry and so cold she’d have said sod it and dragged him to his flat for a shag. But it was far too soon, she knew that, despite her body’s unequivocal message.

She slowed him down a little, but soon they had to come up for air anyway. Adjusting her grip around the presentation book, she slid her hand in his. “Let’s have dinner.”

He licked his swollen lips. She thought they looked even more kissable now than usual. They were full to begin with, but now they glistened in the colourful lights from the shops. “Yes, let’s.”

She wondered if he was just as aroused as she was by the kiss; she’d been unable to tell because of the thick layers of cloth between them. He was wearing his customary denims, and his coat was well-padded. She’d never find out unless she asked him, and if she did, she was sure they would never get to the spicy warmth of the Indian restaurant.

He guided her inside with the hand at the small of her back. She craved his touch and held back a little so he had to press his hand lightly against her to make her move. But she needn’t have worried. He remained as close to her as he could, clearly craving proximity too.

“It’s a lovely place,” Rose said, looking around. It was tastefully decorated, and thanks to the low ceiling and heavy fabrics the conversation of the other patrons was muffled. She was glad because _Henrik’s_ was a bright and sometimes rather noisy place. There were days when she thought all of London’s most misbehaved children descended on the shop with their overtaxed or indifferent mothers in tow.

“Phin introduced me to it.”

“Who’s he?”

“My best friend. You’ll meet him and his partner at the ball,” he said.

“His partner?”

“Becca. They’re not married, despite everyone's assumption. They usually don’t correct them,” John said. “They’re expecting their first child.”

“Oh, how wonderful.”

“They asked me to be his godfather.”

“They chose well.”

“Oh, well, I’m not so sure about that.”

“Are you fishing for compliments?” she teased.

He coloured. “No.”

The waiter took their order. It sounded like a lot of food, even if they wanted to share it between them, but when the waiter returned with papadums and dips Rose remembered how hungry she was.

“I got the money, by the way,” she said. “The cheque was legit.”

“Fantastic. I’m glad,” John said.

She put the presentation folder which she’d had tucked behind her back on the table between them. “And I’ve brought you something. I couldn’t decide, so it’s your choice.”

“You drew me a picture?” he asked, his face slack.

“I tend to keep my promises.”

He opened the blue cover revealing the first sketch in its protective plastic sleeve. It was the portraits of the two men from her dream. He looked at them for a long time. “These are excellent,” he said, his voice telling her that he hadn’t expected that much talent. “Who are they?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I saw them in a dream the other night. The old guy kinda morphed into the younger one. I think there’s more gravitas in the younger one’s eyes though. More sadness.”

John hummed and looked up. “They’re stunning.” Then he turned the page to a sketch of himself.

Rose began to gnaw at the back of her thumb. This was another one she’d not wanted to bring at first. She’d drawn him from memory, and she wasn’t sure if she’d got him right. His expression went even blanker when he looked at his portrait. Rose caught herself comparing him to the graphite face on the paper, and found that it had turned out better than expected.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“No, but this is amazing. I look far too… attractive.”

“It’s how I see you.”

He turned back to the old guy and the young guy. “So if my portrait is anything to go by, these two must be pretty accurate. The images in your dreams must be very clear.” He looked at her and she wondered if there was something else he wanted to say, but he remained quiet.

“I haven’t seen these faces before if that’s what you mean.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he began.

“It’s okay. Please, look and choose one you like.”

“Is there a self-portrait?”

She laughed. “No.”

“Then I don’t need to look any further. That’s what I want. You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/188888.html%22)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Rose discuss her sexual past in this chapter. Let me assure you that while Jimmy and Mickey were inconsiderate lovers they never forced Rose to do anything she wasn't willing to do. It's John's worst fear for Rose and she states, quite bluntly, using the r-word, that that's not the case. And it isn't. I wouldn't include something like that in any of my fics without proper warning at the very beginning of the fic itself or in the tags so people have a chance to decide whether to read the story at all. In fact, I doubt I'd ever include it in my fic.

The toys moved again on Thursday night. John would have missed it if he hadn’t still been reading. He was about to finish the chapter when, in the quiet of his flat he heard a shuffling sound. “The guys!” he whispered, dropping his book carelessly, and sprinting to the kitchen table, where the boxes were still sitting.

John checked all four boxes, but only Cheeky was moving, exploring the limits of his prison. When he noticed his audience, he looked up at John and stuck his tongue out. John returned the gesture, just to see what would happen. The Smurf blinked, giggled, and keeled over. He lay there sprawled, every sign of the cheeky one gone.

John looked at the other three boxes, but none of their occupants had moved a millimetre. This time, it was John who blinked. “That’s odd,” he said, cocking his head and frowning. “What makes you different from them, eh?” he asked the supine Smurf. Of course, he didn’t offer an answer.

Just as he was about to call Rose, his doorbell chimed, hopefully announcing her arrival. He hurried down the hall to let her in. The little screen on the intercom showed him that it was indeed Rose at the front door. A jolt of pleasure coursed through him, ending in a pleasurable but slightly embarrassing twinge in his groin. He couldn’t possible welcome her with the beginnings of a hard-on, no matter how much he wanted her, no matter the box of condoms waiting in the drawer of his bedside table.

“You just missed it,” he said, a little more breathless than he’d expected. “He moved!”

“Who did?” she asked, her eyes going wide. She had two boxes of pizza, while the white wine was still chilling in his fridge.

“Cheeky.”

“And the others?”

“Didn’t even bat an eyelid,” he said, sagging a little. “Hello, love.” He bent, hesitantly, awkwardly, to kiss her hello. She smelled delicious, of something light and flowery.

“Hello,” she said, dropping her voice a bit. The resulting sound did things to him that made him want to forget about his good manners and take her right then and there, in the hall. Instead, he relieved her of the two flat boxes and watched her as she took off her denim jacket. He noticed that her handbag seemed a little fuller tonight than it usually was. She was also wearing better-cut jeans, and a form-fitting, raspberry-coloured t-shirt.

“You look lovely,” he couldn’t help saying.

Rose coloured and tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. “Thanks.”

“Shall we?” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Cheeky keeled over, and now he’s sprawled on the bottom of the box.”

Rose brushed past him and to go see for herself. “And I just missed it?”

He nodded, putting the two boxes down on the counter where he kept plates and cutlery. He’d already set the bit of the dining table that was not occupied by shoe boxes or his writing things. He really ought to take this to his study, but sometimes he needed to work quickly first thing in the mornings, and the kitchen table seemed to be the perfect spot for that.

Of course, Rose, perceptive as she was, spotted the leather-bound journal and his pencils. “You never said you’re an artist too.”

He shrugged, opening the fridge door to get the wine out. He looked over his shoulder as he said, “It’s part of the job. Or at least it helps if an archaeologist can draw.”

“May I?” she asked, stepping around the chairs to be able to take a closer look.

He hesitated, well aware of the slick glass in his fist, but for a few brief moments he was unable to make up his mind. He’d completely forgotten to put his drawing things away, which proved to show that he didn’t think Rose an intruder in his private sphere. Still, these were his dreams, and he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else to see them, particularly since he found it so hard to make sense of them.

“If you promise not to turn the page,” he said.

Rose looked as if she wanted to ask why not, but she bit her lower lip instead and drew the journal towards her. He’d dreamt of Aztecs last night, and he’d drawn a surprisingly English-looking warrior and an Aztec goddess with fair complexion and an elaborate headdress. There also was her handmaiden, and she, too, looked slightly out of place. He was quite happy with how they’d turned out, although something about these three people didn’t seem quite right. He mustn’t take this too seriously. They were just dreams.

“It’s gorgeous,” Rose said. She had a little difficulty deciphering his handwriting, or at least the strange word. “Yetaxa?”

“I think that’s her name,” he said, joining her at the table. He brought the bottle and a corkscrew.

“She’s beautiful. Both of them are,” Rose said.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said, stealing a kiss from her.

“Why Aztecs? Why not Egyptians? I thought they were your forte?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, then set to opening the bottle. “I dreamt of them.”

“You dream of beautiful women?”

“I’ve been dreaming of lots of things that don’t make sense,” he said, feeling his defences falter. But he wasn’t ready yet to share his dreams with her. They seemed to come from such an internal place that, despite his feelings for her, he wanted to keep hidden for a while longer.

“They aren’t bad dreams?” Rose asked in alarm.

He mellowed. “No, Rose.” He put his arms around her waist and drew her close. He still wasn’t sure when or how he could touch her. They hadn’t established any rules about it now. What they had was still so fresh that there hadn’t been time to yet. 

Rose rested her hands on his upper arms, and he knew it was all right to touch her like this.

“I’m glad. I hate the idea of you having bad dreams.”

He smiled. “I just see them, and it feels as if I am both close and far away at the same time. It’s hard to describe.”

“Like the Pensieve?”

He frowned. “Yeah, it’s a bit like that, like looking at someone else’s memories.” It was amazing how well Rose understood him, and how accepting she was of what he told her. He marked his place with the business card before he closed the journal carefully.

Her stomach chose that moment to growl and chased the moment away, making her giggle. “I’m sorry, but it seems I’m really rather hungry again.”

“Yes, let’s eat. I don’t like cold pizza much. Would you like some wine with it?” he asked.

“I’d love some,” she said. “I’m on the afternoon shift tomorrow.”

He swallowed, but hoped he could hide it by pretending to concentrate hard on pouring them wine. He’d set the table with a wine glass and a water glass for each of them.

While they were eating they discussed the mystery of the toys, wondering why Cheeky moved but the other toys didn’t.

“We should keep a logbook. Of when they move and how,” Rose suggested. “If you have a digital camera, we can even take photos of their poses when they freeze up again.”

“Spoken like a true scholar,” John said, clinking her glass. “And I’ll take notes of what the children tell me. That way at least, we might be able to discern a pattern.”

“We work quite well together, don’t we?” Rose said eventually.

“Yeah.” It was a thoughtful, quiet answer, which prompted Rose to reach out for his hand.

“Are you all right, John?”

He looked at her. “It’s our thing, I suppose,” he said. “I’m so glad your bag burst in Maggie’s.”

“So am I.”

“How long can you stay?”

“As long as you want. As I said, I’m on the late shift tomorrow,” she said, tucking the tip of her tongue into the corner of her mouth as she reached for her glass of wine. Her other hand was on his, and she’d started to caress it.

“I don’t want you to leave tonight.”

A shade of pink spread from her chest upwards and she supped the cool wine.

“If that’s all right,” he hurried to say. “I don’t—” He hadn’t done this in a long time, and he felt awfully awkward. What a fool he must be making of himself. Surely, Rose was used to being charmed out of her knickers in more subtle ways.

She raked her nails over his skin, sending shivers from there to all over his body, but most notably to his groin. “It’s perfectly all right.”

He stared at her, and she smiled. What a lucky bastard he was.

“We don’t have to— I mean, I have a spare bedroom and everything,” he hurried to say, thinking of the bulge in her bag and the box in his drawer. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, yeah?” she said, setting her glass down with exaggerated care. He watched her intently as she stood and walked around the table to smooth her free hand against his pecs. Her warmth came as a shock, which his body converted quickly into arousal. He must have started a little at her touch, because she looked at him with a worried look on her face.

“I’m,” he began with a sigh, “it’s been a while.” He looked up at her, something nervous fluttering in his stomach. 

“For me too.”

He stared at her. Then he stood, unsure of what to do next, but uncomfortable with her towering over him, such as she was.

“Mickey and I haven’t slept with each other in months. It’s all cuddles, but basically we’re like an old married couple,” she said.

“They can have fun too, you know.”

She slapped him playfully with the hand that had so far rested peacefully against his chest. “You know what I mean.”

“He’s not very clever, Mickey. If you were my girlfriend I’d want you all the time,” he said.

Rose took a step towards him, sliding her hand upwards and to the back of his neck in the process. She was so close that she must feel the beginnings of his erection pressing into her stomach. It was too bad that a woman’s arousal wasn’t as obvious; but he supposed that if she felt cornered in any way, she’d not have moved so close to him.

“You would?” she smiled. She pulled him down by the neck for a kiss, and all thought of what he would and wouldn’t do retreated into the dark recesses of his mind. This was about giving Rose what she was ready to take, and accept her offering in return. He’d let her guide him, hoping that it would keep them safe. 

It was unbelievable how welcoming her mouth was, and how well he already knew her. When he’d first kissed her, he’d been quick to discover that she wasn’t used to sharing. She’d withdrawn into herself, as if to tell him to feel free to take what he wanted. It had taken her a while to realise that he wanted to do this together. He’d made a mental note to remember this when they made love. If she was so used to being passive while kissing, then she liked being passive while making love too.

He loved oral sex, both on the giving and the receiving end. Rose, he feared, had probably been mostly on the giving end. Which was a shame. While he enjoyed a warm mouth and clever tongue around his cock, he loved the softness of his lover’s labia and her taste just too much to not share. There were occasions when he’d not reciprocate, but he’d always make sure to return the favour two and three times over when she let him.

Rose was becoming more adventurous, and for a while, he drew her into his mouth to give her a chance to find his special spots. When she curled her tongue against the roof of his mouth that did less to him than a quick flick against it. But he loved it when she ran the tip of her tongue over his lips.

She did just that before she let him go to catch her breath. He groaned.

“Rose,” he panted.

She looked up at him, her amber eyes dark. “John.”

“We should get more comfortable,” he said, loosening his grip around her. He had no recollection of having tightened it. But he saw how her eyes strayed down his body as they stepped apart, and settled on the ridge in his jeans.

Her eyes widened, and for a terrible moment he thought he’d scared her off. She’d done that to him, and he was about to explain that it was something wonderful and that he’d not expect her to take him to completion, when she said, “Oh God.”

“The name’s John,” he couldn’t help saying.

Rose giggled.

He looked pointedly at his hard-on. When he looked up, he noticed, to his relief, the hard points of her nipples as they strained against her t-shirt.

“I did that,” she said.

He stepped away from her. “Yeah, you did.”

Her head snapped up to meet his eyes. She opened her mouth to say something but no words came.

“It’s a bit unfair that I can’t see if I’ve returned the favour,” he said, gesturing lamely at her chest. “You might just be cold.”

“I’m not cold.” 

When Rose undid the fastenings of her jeans his heart sped up. She didn’t take them off, however. “It’ll be easier for you to find out, this way, if you want,” she said.

He nodded dumbly. Reaching for her hand, he pulled her towards the sofa. The fire had been burning since he’d come home. He’d remembered how cold she had been the last time, and how reluctant he’d been to start a fire because he wanted to spend as much time as possible with her on the sofa.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” she said, her expression one of golden delight as she looked into the flames.

“To keep you warm.”

She turned to him. “I was hoping you’d keep me warm, but I love this too.”

“Oi!” he huffed.

He kissed her, and while his hands began to map her torso, he didn’t take advantage of her loosened waistband. The last thing he wanted was to give her the impression that she owed him anything, or that she was responsible for taking care of him, now that she had teased him so. If anything, that feeling should be mutual.

“You set the pace, all right? Don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” he said when they came up for breath. Her tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

“You don’t expect me to…?”

“I don’t expect anything. As I said, I’m a lucky enough bastard that you’d even want to kiss me. Anything else is just… fantastic.” He grinned at her, but at the same time he understood that she was both so much younger than him and probably more damaged by Jimmy and Mickey than he’d thought. Bloody boys. Never understood how to show appreciation for the gifts of a woman until it was too late.

“So when you offered the spare room you meant it?”

“Absolutely.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.” She blushed and sat heavily on the sofa. Noticing that the bulge in his jeans was at an inappropriate height, he sat down beside her.

“Can we just… cuddle?” Rose asked.

“Of course we can,” he said. He shifted to sit in the corner of the sofa, his feet on the sofa, while Rose made herself comfortable against him. She brushed against his cock in the process, and he gritted his teeth. But eventually it was okay and the blood started rushing back to his brains as he held her against him. Rose’s head was tucked in the nook between his neck and jaw, and when he turned his head he could kiss her forehead.

When his hand started caressing her hip he noticed that her jeans were still unfastened, and he started to draw lazy circles on her skin where her skin was exposed by her t-shirt rucking up. Rose eventually relaxed and started to caress him too.

“That’s lovely.”

He kissed her hair. “They did things to you, those boys.”

“Yeah.”

He stiffened.

“But not rape. Never that. They never raped me.”

“But you did things just to please them, without genuinely enjoying them,” He pointed out.

She shifted to be able to look up at him; at the same time, she tilted her pelvis a little. He was startled when she took his hand and placed it just inside the fly of her jeans. “Does this feel as if I’m not enjoying myself?”

Her warmth was electrifying, and he was acutely aware of the satin of her knickers — Did she always wear satin? — and the whorls of hair flattened by the material. A jolt of new arousal shook him, and he was ashamed to feel himself harden at once.

“Go ahead,” she whispered, dancing her fingertips over his jaw. “Touch me. I want you to.”

He pushed his hand further down, between the two layers of fabric, and felt her wetness through the material of the thinner layer. “You’re wet.”

“That was you,” she whispered, kissing his jaw.

He turned and ducked his head to capture her mouth for another kiss, his hand between her legs. She opened up for him, and when she wiggled a little he had more room to move his hand in the confines of her clothes. She broke away from him with a gasp when he brushed the top of her folds.

“More?”

She nodded.

He withdrew his hand and pushed down again finding his way between skin and satin now. Her curls were soft and increasingly damp as he brushed his fingers over her in search of her opening and the most prominent of her points of pleasure.

The effect was immediate and rewarding, Rose arched into him with a groan when he touched her clit. If he kept going, he knew he could give her an orgasm pretty quickly. She seemed starved for touch, now that she trusted him.

“More?”

She made a delightful but primal gurgling sound as she tried to hold back.

“Don’t hold back, Rose, I’ve got you.”

“Yes,” she hissed. “Please, John.”

“If I start now, I won’t be able to stop until I’ve made you come.”

“Want you to,” she whispered, her eyes locking on to his. “Please.”

He kissed her, alternating his movements and pace between lazy, reassuring and urgent. He held her to him with his free hand, while he continued to give her as much pleasure as possible with his fingers. Rose’s legs fell open, and she hooked her right one over his so she could relax into his touches.

She was incredibly slick and soft, and so warm. For that sensation alone, the privilege of touching her, she deserved to be worshipped. He brushed his fingers over and along her labia, inside and out, avoiding her clit as much as possible but at the same not neglecting it entirely.

Rose was heavy against him, her pelvis jerking as the currents of arousal passed through her.

“Come for me, Rose,” he whispered, focusing all his attention on her clit as she fisted the material of his jumper.

Rose came with a sob-like cry and a jerk so violent it was all he could to hold onto her as she curled into him and recovered. He cupped her mons, his fingers thoroughly slippery with her juices. The air was heavy with her smell, and together with the crackling of the fire it was a moment he knew he’d remember forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/189438.html)


	13. Chapter 13

He smiled at her when she finally had it in her to push herself up into a sitting position between his legs. Her gaze dropped immediately to the bulge at the front of his jeans. It was her turn now, and she began to reach for his fly.

He caught her by the wrist. “Rose.”

Her eyes met his, and she found it difficult to hold his gaze. Rose had no idea how she could have let herself go like that. What he had done to her had been better than any orgasm she had given herself. It scared her a little. None of the others had ever done anything so amazing, and he’d only used his fingers. She wasn’t even naked, nor was he, and still the outline of his erection was clearly visible through the thick material of the denim.

“Don’t you want me to return the favour?” she asked, squeezing him. He had softened somewhat.

John’s eyes fluttered shut as he sucked in the air. “I do.”

She undid the button.

“But you don’t have to,” he said.

“What?”

He sat up, and her hand slid down his thigh in the process. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. What I did to you, it just happened. It was okay, though, wasn’t it?”

Rose stared. What he’d done to her was the best thing she’d experienced since she’d discovered sex. She’d felt both safe and wanted in his arms. She pressed the heel of her foot into her crotch as she sat, to trap the faint pulsing of the afterglow. “I loved it. It was the… No one has ever done something like that for me.”

“And now you feel obliged to be doubly grateful,” he said.

She shrugged. “What else…”

“Look, Rose. I… I know that this is because of the age difference. But, I’m not like them. I’m not after instant gratification. Well, not always.” He grinned at her. Then he reached for her hand. It was the first time that he’d touched her after, and she imagined her juices drying on his skin. Her smell on them. He hadn’t even wiped his fingers.

“But it’s not fair.”

“Exactly,” he said, looking pointedly at her.

“I want to kiss you.”

He opened his arms, and it took a while for them to sort their legs and arms before she was able to kiss him comfortably. “That was so gorgeous,” she murmured in between kisses. “I wanted you to stop because it was so incredible and I was afraid I couldn’t hold myself together.”

She kissed him, cradling his face in her hands. “And I’m afraid I’ll never be able to do the same for you.”

John pushed her away. “Stop, Rose.”

“What?”

His eyes were darting back and forth quickly as he looked for the right words. “Don’t think like that. Ever.”

She bit her lip, but nodded. He looked gorgeous in the warm glow from the fire, and she started to explore his face with her fingertips. They were both still fully dressed, and yet they’d just shared an amazing experience. He said he’d enjoyed himself too, and his dying hard-on was a pretty good indication that he had.

“I want to,” she said, kissing him. “Please.” She pushed one hand inside his fly, cupping him through the cotton of his pants. He was in that odd half-hard state, and she hoped that she’d be able to excite him enough to get him stiff again. She kissed her way along his jaw as she held her hand still. 

Following sudden inspiration, she took the hand that was still coated in her juices and, gently prying his loose fist open with her thumb, she sucked each finger at a time into her mouth. John arched his back into her, throwing his head back almost wantonly as she twirled her tongue around his fingers. They felt surprisingly big in her mouth, the pads just a little calloused from repairing the toys. She’d washed off her taste quickly, a strange combination of salt and grapefruit. Her tongue lingered on the hardened bit of skin on his middle finger, where his pencil would rest when he drew.

“Rose,” he sighed.

She kissed him again, smiling. His hand went into her hair, so she was free to drop hers to his cock, which had grown hard again. Rose moaned into his mouth, then nipped his bottom lip with her teeth.

“Just… touch, please,” he murmured, nudging her with the tip of his nose. “Yeah, just that. Please.”

“Anything, love,” she said. She bit her lip, realising too late that the word had escaped. If it had registered with him, he didn’t let on. She curled her hands around his cock, through the material of his pants, and gave him a light squeeze. John groaned again.

She was the first one to touch him since he’d lost his wife.

The realisation hit her suddenly, and she marvelled at his restraint. He was holding himself back, just like she’d done earlier. Either he was being a gentleman, or he was afraid of something. But it was just her.

“You feel good, John,” she whispered, placing a soft kiss by his ear. “I’m going to touch you now.”

For a few beats she feared that he might take her up on that last offer of an out, but she managed to slide her hand beneath the cotton. Her fingertips grazed his thick curls, and he bucked into her, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder, his breath hot on her skin. Then she touched the wonderful, soft skin of his cock. The head was already slick, and she used her fingers to spread it along his length. If she wanted to give him as much pleasure as he’d given her, she’d have to free him of his pants.

She tugged at them and he helped her by dropping his foot the floor once she’d freed him. She stared at his erection for a while, dancing her fingertips up and down its length. The thought of taking him into her mouth flashed in urgent colours in her mind, but she dismissed it. She wanted to see him come, just like he had. He had seen her at her most vulnerable. She wanted the same thing, now that he was ready to give it to her.

“You’re beautiful.” She already an advantage over him. She knew what he looked like, whereas he had only felt her.

His eyes shone feverishly when he met hers. John was beyond words now, so she bent to kiss him at the same time as she moved her hand upwards with a twist. He bit her lip with a moan. As she draped her thigh over his, he sought for purchase in the tight material of her jeans; that seemed to be enough for him.

“Come for me, John. I want to see you come,” she encouraged him. She set up a routine of stroking, twisting and caressing, and after she’d massaged his balls and felt them tighten, she redoubled her efforts. He erupted all over her hand with a sudden shout, bucking into her, driven by the instinct to bury himself as deeply inside her as he could. Thick globs of come splattered her hands and the hem of his jumper. One even hit her chin.

She sat back in numbed surprise. It had never been so violent, or so sexy to watch before. 

John sagged into the cushions, breathing hard. He probably didn’t see her when she brushed his come off her chin. Her fingers glistened with it in the firelight.

“Rose,” he said, his eyes heavily hooded, his smile sleepy and so very peaceful.

“Don’t tell me you really didn’t want that.”

He chuckled. “I can’t remember the last time I came so hard.”

She tucked the tip of her tongue between her teeth. “I aim to please.”

His gaze dropped to her soiled hand and his jumper. “We’d better clean this mess up.”

Rose wiped her hand on his jumper. His abs were firm beneath her touch. “Let’s stay here for a while, and rest. I love the firelight.”

John sat up, tucked himself away and pulled the jumper up and over his head, dumping it on the floor. He was in his vest now, and Rose was almost disappointed. She hadn’t realised how thirsty she was until he passed her her glass of wine. It was warm now, and it had lost some of its tartness, but it was better than nothing. It was that or get up and get a fresh glass.

“Stay, Rose.”

“Yeah,” she said, scooting down to make herself comfortable in the cradle of his body. This time, their caresses were soothing and lazy, drawing out the moment of bliss rather than teasing out another.

They stayed up late until Rose noticed that John was beginning to doze off in between their conversations. They’d talk to each other on and off, and when the pauses between sentences lengthened, Rose propped herself up with some effort. She, too, was getting sleepy. It was too late now to go home.

Luckily, she’d brought an emergency overnight bag; it made her handbag a bit bulkier, but she’d have her own toiletries and a fresh pair of knickers. And a handful of condoms, which she reckoned they wouldn’t need tonight. With a shiver of anticipation she imagined them using one or two in the morning.

She kissed John awake. “Hey,” she said softly as his eyes fluttered open. “Let’s go to bed.”

“You’re staying?” he asked, a smile forcing away his heavy-lidded gaze. “What time is it?”

“Does it matter? You’re falling asleep on me.”

He chuckled. “You are falling asleep on me.”

“I’m the one who woke you.”

He kissed her gently. “There I was protecting my reputation.”

“And what’s that? That you’re a darling gentleman?”

“I am?” he squeaked.

She kissed the tip of his nose. “Let’s go to bed.”

Rose sat up as he pushed himself up. “I’ll make up the spare bedroom.”

She touched his chest. “I was hoping I’d fall asleep with you.”

His smile was beyond adorable. It set something warm and fluttery free deep inside her, a part of which was linked to her core. “You want to sleep with me?”

“As in sharing a bed, yeah.”

“Fantastic,” he whispered and kissed her deeply. “I’ll give you one of my t-shirts. And there should be a spare toothbrush somewhere.”

“No need for that,” she said, “but I’d appreciate the t-shirt.” She didn’t have it in her to tell him about the top with spaghetti straps she’d wrestled into her bag. He seemed so eager to accommodate her, and she was a tad reluctant to show just how prepared she was to stay the night. Although, she supposed, the fact that she had brought her toothbrush more or less gave her away. She’d popped into Boots for a folding travel toothbrush that didn’t take up too much space in her handbag.

His bedroom was epic.

After all she’d seen of his flat, she’d expected his bedroom to be as spartan as his lounge, but it was a cosy space with an unmistakable female touch. “Becca helped with it,” he said when she stopped just inside the door. “When she saw that all I had was a mattress on the floor and a reading lamp beside it.”

The furniture was a haphazard collection, but since every piece seemed to have its own history — only the dresser was a flat-packed item, but it had been hacked — it composed a pleasing, comfy whole. The bed was a giant four-poster without a canopy, unmade but heaped with pillows, a heavy blanket to supplement the duvet (white and cream-coloured linen). There were also books in his bed, on the side that he obviously didn’t use. Rose wondered if it was his marital bed, and the side with the books was where his wife used to sleep.

There were two mismatched bedside tables, each with a lamp on it, but only the one on his side bore signs of being used. There were an alarm clock, a bottle of water and more books. At the foot of the bed was an ottoman. There was also an armchair and an occasional table, but other than a box of tissues there was nothing on it. There was also a fireplace, but the hearth was empty, the flue closed forever.

The carpet felt thick and new beneath her stocking feet. The walls were bare; he said he hadn’t been able to decide what he wanted to put up. “It’s lovely,” Rose said, spotting the steps that led to the en-suite and the dressing room.

“Yeah, well. As I said, Becca helped.”

“I like her style,” Rose said, jealous of the gorgeous flat and wishing her own place had as much potential. She doubted she’d ever be able to make a room as wonderful as this.

John showed her the bathroom, and when she left, he gave her a t-shirt which she changed into while he went to get ready for bed. It was funny, she thought, that they were so coy around each other were going to sleep in jimjams after they’d been so intimate, made each other come so hard. Part of her was glad, however. It was all happening so terribly fast, and they both needed to remember that they had planned to take things slowly. She was even a bit reluctant to slip beneath the covers in his absence. The shirt was too big for her, but it still only came down a little shy of mid-thigh. She was acutely aware of her breasts that were now free of her bra. 

She discovered a bookcase on the wall the bedroom shared with the lounge, and studied the titles of the spines. Was there no end to his bibliophilia?

“Why aren’t you in bed? You must be freezing,” he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, nuzzling her neck.

She tilted her head to the side to give him access to one of her favourite spots; one he hadn’t discovered yet. “It felt wrong without you there.”

His breath was warm against her skin. “I’d like you to make yourself at home here,” he said. “Because you being here feels so very right to me.”

His words sent warm waves through her, and this time they settled into the space around her heart rather than her crotch. She turned in his embrace. “Thank you, John.”

“There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?”

She hesitated. It was amazing, and a bit frightening how well he knew her already. “I won’t be able to return the gesture. I live with my mother, and my bedroom is tiny and… girly.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, kissing her behind her ear. She sighed. That was perfect. It was one of her favourite spots. “Your presence breathes life into this place. What more could I ask in return. Besides, you don’t need to return any gesture.”

She placed her hands on his chest to keep him from distracting her. This was important, particularly because she felt so much younger than he, still living with her mum didn’t help that feeling any. He’d never stay the night at her place, not in her narrow bed, not with the paper walls. “I want to. I don’t want to take without giving anything in return.”

He sighed, kissing her forehead. “Cook for me, if you want. Help me choose pictures, add your presence to this place if you want. I know—” he paused, “I know how odd this is. But what I feel for you—”

She interrupted him with her fingers on his lips, mouthing “Don’t say it”. He removed her hand, kissing each fingertip.

“What I feel for you is genuine.”

She looked up at him, and all she could see was honesty. She smiled. “All right then.” She looked at his bed. “The thing is, I didn’t mean to intrude.” It was true; she’d not wanted to remove any of the books that occupied the empty half of his bed.

“Oh! Right,” he said, letting go of her to collect the books and put them down on the empty occasional table. “There,” he grinned triumphantly. Then he held out his hand.

She took it, and he guided her to the bed, folding back the duvet for her. The sheets felt crisp when she snuggled in; he really hadn’t slept on this side of the bed.

Then he slid in beside her, pulling her close and curling himself around her. “Is this all right?” he asked, nuzzling her shoulder through the material of her t-shirt.

“Wonderful,” she said, suddenly sleepy now that she was in an actual bed.

“Kiss me good night?” he asked, turning her gently in his arms. They kissed languidly for a while, but to her surprise it was he who fell asleep first, his nose buried in the crook of her neck. She soon fell asleep too.

Rose woke with a gasp and a stinging pain in her cheeks. John had slapped her, hard, and his fingers were digging painfully into her shoulders. He was astride her, his weight pinning her down into the mattress, making it impossible for her to move.

“Nell!” he yelled in a strange, dream-induced panic that drained his voice of its power and turned it into a stage-whisper. “Nell! Oh God, Nell, please! Nell! No, no, no! No more...”

He was clearly dreaming of his late wife, but there was nothing Rose could do to fight back but dig her nails as deeply into his arms as she could. She cried his name, the skin on her stinging cheeks taut. He grabbed her chin, forcing his fingers into her flesh and mashing it so that all that left her throat was a terrified gurgle. “Nell, dammit, don’t leave me! Come back to me, you cannot go! I must kill them all, there’s no other way.”

Rose’s eyes widened at his words; she was more terrified now than ever. “John,” she cried, digging her heels and elbows into the mattress for leverage as she bucked beneath him. In an inattentive moment — he must have heard her voice — she managed to throw him off. She quickly scrambled out of the bed, away from him.

He let out a terrified scream that sounded more like a wounded animal than a human being. She returned to his bed, unable to leave him in such anguish, and slapped him across the face so hard that his head snapped to the side.

He woke.

His eyes were wild and confused.

“John?”

He took a few breaths, but he was still panting. “Rose?”

“Thank God, John,” she said, reaching out for him. He’d terrified her, but she knew it had only been a dream. She could also still feel the sting in her cheeks and the pressure of his fingers in her shoulders. She was sure they’d left behind a set of blue marks.

“Rose, I’m sorry. What… what happened?”

She wrapped her fingers around his. “You were dreaming, John.”

He switched on the light. “Let me see you.” Her cheeks stung so that she was sure there must be an imprint in the shape of his hand. “Turn around,” John said crisply. She obeyed, and before she could protest, he’d pushed up her t-shirt to examine her shoulders. He recalled exactly what he’d done in his sleep. That, she found curious.

He kissed her shoulders, then he tugged the cotton down again. “I’m so sorry, Rose. I think,” he sighed deeply, “I think it’s better if we didn’t share a bed tonight.”

“What? John, it was just a dream.”

“Look what I’ve done!” he protested, gathering a pillow. “You stay here, I’ll go and sleep on the sofa.”

“No, John, please. You didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s okay,” she said, despite her initial terror when she’d woken.

“No,” he said, his voice broken. He picked up the extra blanket and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/190958.html)


	14. Chapter 14

14 March 2005

John was brooding over the list from the previous evening; he’d started to keep a log to track when the toys came alive. He couldn’t do that without thinking of Rose. It had been three days since he’d seen her; or, more accurately, since he’d spoken to her. He’d seen her since then, but only from a distance. He’d watched from the upper level of the bookshop, or through the open office door, while Naoko got rid of her on several occasions. The truth was that he couldn’t bring himself to talk to her after he’d assaulted her in her sleep.

The bruises on her fair skin had etched themselves on his mind, as had her terrified expression. The night terror had shaken her as much as it had him. He’d not had such a vivid dream since Nell had died. In fact, neither Nell or the children had appeared in any of his dreams since they’d died. He’d even felt guilty for his escapist dreams of fantastical creatures and places whose names he wasn’t able to spell. Googling them yielded nothing. And the first night he spent with Rose had turned him into a monster.

He’d spent the remainder of the night on the sofa, making sure that Rose was all right in the morning, but he’d not reacted to any of her attempts to get in touch since then. While at first he’d been glad that Rose worked nearby, now he cursed fortune because the close proximity made it easy for her to try to see him. He didn’t want to hurt her, and she deserved better than old, broken him.

“John?”

It was Naoko, with another of Maggie’s paper cups of coffee.

“Is it Rose again?” he said, looking up from his handwritten chart. The list wasn’t long yet, but it was a start. He just didn’t know what it was the start of. So far, he’d been unable to detect a pattern.

“In a way,” Naoko said.

“Send her away, please?”

“She’s not here, John,” Naoko said, coming closer to give him the paper cup. He accepted it gladly from her, quickly adjusting his grip so the hot liquid didn’t burn his palm. Thank Maggie for small favours like the cup sleeves.

“Well, what is it then?”

“You’ve been miserable since Friday morning,” Naoko said.

“What makes you think it’s got anything to do with Rose?”

Naoko huffed. “Don’t insult my intelligence, John.”

He ran a hand over his face and slumped back against the shelving behind the counter. To be honest, he was glad that Naoko had finally had enough. He missed Rose terribly, and he knew he’d not been his usual pleasant self around the bookshop. “I scared her.”

Naoko stared at him. “Doesn’t look like it to me. She’s been here every day before and after her shift. Someone who’s scared would give you a wide berth, don’t you think?”

John took a deep breath. He hadn’t even told Phin about what happened when they’d met up for their usual Sunday morning run. Although his best friend had probably noticed something wasn’t quite right with him, he’d not pressed him for details. This was their deal. They didn’t ask each other about those sorts of things unless they opened up of their own volition. So far, they’d fared well with this policy.

But John had finally had enough, and he was glad that his usually timid assistant had finally plucked up her courage. “Is anyone round?” he asked.

Naoko shook her head. Right. Where else would she have got the coffee. He was really in quite a state when he didn’t even notice her nipping out for her break.

“I’m sorry, Naoko,” he said.

“Is there anything I can do?” So far, she’d lied to Rose about his whereabouts, and so far Rose hadn’t insisted on talking to him anyway. Which could mean all manner of things.

“Rose and I… we spent the other night together,” he said.

She smiled at him in encouragement.

“And I had a night terror. I thought,” he took a deep breath, “I thought she was Nell, and I slapped her, and grabbed her… hard. I was trying to revive Nell, or to rouse her from unconsciousness. It’s all a bit of a blur.” He sipped his coffee and burnt his tongue.

“What did she say?”

“She told me it was okay.”

“See?” Naoko said, giving him another of her friendly smiles.

“It’s not okay,” he insisted. “I scared her. I could see it in her eyes when I woke her. I was pinning her to the bed when she finally woke. I’ll never forget the terror in her face.”

“Well, what did she say?”

“That it’s all right.”

“She meant it, John,” Naoko said. In a way that was what he’d been hoping to hear, but he didn’t trust himself. He’d scared the woman he cared for so deeply. What he had done was unforgivable. “I think you sacred yourself more than her.”

He set his jaw.

“The next time Rose comes round,” Naoko announced, “I’m not going to get rid of her. She’s distraught, and I’ll not be part of this misery any longer. She’s worried, John.”

Part of him needed to hear what she was saying, but another part was still horrified at his behaviour. He didn’t trust himself any more, even though he hadn’t woken from a night terror, or even an ordinary dream, since. His sleep pattern was back to normal. 

Just as he was about to answer, the bells above the door announced their first customer after the brief early afternoon lull, and they both turned to see who it was. It was Sarah Jane Smith. John sighed inwardly. The curious journalist was the last person he wanted to see right now. He’d just managed to talk himself out of his funk , and he could do without her difficult questions.

Sarah Jane smiled in her friendly, slightly distant manner. He chalked it up to her professional detachment and reminded himself to behave in the same way. She deserved to be treated as generously as she treated him.

“Ms Smith,” he said, putting on a smile and setting down his cup. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, there were just a couple of things I needed to clear up before I can finish the article. I’ve decided that of all the shops I visited yours is most intriguing, and I have a few more questions to ask you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” he said although he really didn’t feel like answering any more of her strange questions. But then he reminded himself that she seemed to know something about the living toys too, and if he played his cards right, he might be able to draw some information out of her. “Shall we go to my office?”

He invited her to precede him with a gallant gesture, picking up his cup and making a mental note to ask her if she wanted a cuppa too.

Sarah Jane looked around his office with a practised glance taking in as many of the details as possible. As had happened on her previous visit, her gaze came to rest on the tray he used for his toy repair service. And then it swept over the parts on the tray and rested on the fob watch he used as a paperweight. The watch was broken, but he couldn’t bring himself to chuck it out. It bore beautiful etchings in a circular pattern that he’d never found on any other watch.

For a beat he thought Sarah Jane gasped, a reaction that was too close to recognition to be anything else. He frowned briefly, wondering where she might have seen the watch before. “It’s my father’s,” he said, picking it up and holding it out for her to examine. “That’s what you were wondering, right?”

Sarah Jane gently scooped the watch out of his palm and held it as if it were the most precious object she’d touched in a long while. “Yes,” she said, looking at him. Her dark eyes seemed oddly familiar, the intelligence and wit sparkling in them, but he couldn’t say why that was. “Where did he get it?”

“Gallifrey,” John said.

An odd expression crossed Sarah Jane’s face then. It was a mixture of recognition and shock. Her expression went slightly slack although it was clear that she was trying to say something halfway intelligent.

Her reaction baffled him. “It’s in Ireland, just a tiny place. Do you know it?”

She was quick to recover and handed him the watch back. “Yes, I’ve heard of it.” She smiled. “I’ve never been, though.” She held his gaze evenly. He could tell that she was looking for something in his eyes that she couldn’t find in his words.

“Well,” he said, growing uncomfortable, “what can I help you with?” He replaced the watch on the stack of papers; her eyes followed his hand carefully, but she managed to refocus on him before he had a chance to dig deeper. 

For a moment Sarah Jane seemed as if she’d forgotten why she was there. The watch had caught her attention, and he wondered why it was so special to her. It was a family heirloom. Eventually, she asked, “How long has this watch been in your family?”

He leaned back in his chair. 

“I know it’s a personal question,” she began, but h cut her off.

“My father made it. He was a watchmaker.”

“Are you quite sure?” 

He scoffed. “Yeah.”

“The thing is, I knew a man called John Smith once,” she began. “I know it’s a common name, but he was special.”

“My father’s name was Sydney.”

Sarah Jane took a deep breath.

“I’m not sure what you want,” he continued. “I’m not the John Smith you once knew. Don’t you think I’d remember you if we’d met before? And I don’t.”

“I’m sorry. I — I got carried away. Hoping,” she said. “I hope you’ll forgive me. It’s just, there is this other thing I’m investigating and I was hoping you’d be able to help me.”

“And this is linked to this John Smith you once knew?” he asked. He was afraid she was losing him.

“As I said, he was… special,” she said. “He investigated mysterious events.”

“Mysterious events,” he echoed.

“Like the plastic toys that are coming to life,” she said, clearly taking a leap of faith.

“Ah, those,” he said.

“Do you know anything about them?”

“I don’t really trust journalists. I’ve had some bad experiences with them, so you’ll forgive me if I’d rather not discuss this with you,” he said.

“Doctor?”

He frowned. So far, she’d not addressed him by his title, and there was something about the way she said it that made him pause. She hadn’t just used a title. The way she’d said Doctor suggested that the title was fraught with more meaning than just having published a doctoral thesis. It almost sounded like a name.

“You’re not him, are you?” Sarah Jane asked.

“The Doctor? No,” he said. “Who is he?”

She clammed up, but he couldn’t say if it was out of embarrassment, anger or disappointment. It was obvious, however, that she’d closed herself off from him.

“What do you know about the living toys?” he asked.

“They come alive every Thursday and Sunday. Only the plastic ones are involved,” she said softly. He realised that she was making a leap of faith.

“Yes, I know that. Have you seen them move?”

She nodded. “They are remote-controlled via several relays in London. One of them is on top of _Henrik’s_.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“That’s what puzzles me,” she said.

Sarah Jane was holding something back, of that he was sure. “Are they dangerous?” he asked, immediately thinking of the children who played with the plastic toys. His natural instinct to protect them was aroused, and he thought of Ben and Sophie first.

But they didn’t need his protection any more.

“We’re not sure,” she said. Before he could ask about her choice of pronoun, she continued, “But foul play might be involved.”

He slumped back in his chair. “I don’t know anything about them, apart from the fact that they’re plastic and come alive from time to time. I’ve got some of my own, to observe them. Some of them come to life, some don’t.”

That caught her attention. “What do you mean?”

He told her about the Centurion, the horse, the pharaoh and the Smurf. Only the latter had come alive. “I’ve got a list on the counter. Kids come in to tell me about their toys, and I’ve been keeping a log of what they tell me. I’ll get it,” he offered.

When he entered the shop proper, he saw Rose standing there and talking to Naoko. His timing couldn’t be any worse. 

“Rose,” he said, feeling some of the tension leaving his body as he addressed her. He grabbed the sheet of paper he’d come for.

She smiled briefly but then her expression changed into that urgent, haunted look she’d worn the night she’d asked him for help. “John, hi.”

It was as if he’d swallowed too much cold water all at once. There was a painful lump in his throat. He followed her gaze to the door and knew that she was sheltering from Jimmy again. He needed to get her out of the line of sight. “There’s someone in my office I’d like you to meet,” he said, his voice pressed. He reached out for her, only then remembering the set of blue fingerprints on her shoulders.

Rose nodded eagerly, and she relaxed somewhat as the breath she’d been holding rushed out of her. 

He touched her upper arm and steered her in the direction of the office. “There really is someone I’d like you to meet,” he whispered as he followed her closely.

She looked at him, her eyes restless. “Who is it?”

“A journalist who knows about the toys.” 

Rose acknowledged this with a gesture of her head. “Okay. Have they moved?”

“Only Cheeky has,” he said, pushing the door open. He introduced the two women to each other, offering Rose his chair. “Tea?” He passed Sarah Jane the list he’d made.

Rose smiled at him gratefully.

“This is interesting,” she said, perusing the names and dates on the list.

“What is it?” Rose asked.

John quickly explained as he filled the kettle with water. Rose stood and joined Sarah Jane so she could read the list over her shoulder. 

The door burst open, startling all of them. “Rose!” The young man responsible for the disruption barked. So that must be Jimmy.

“And you are?” John said, straightening and putting the kettle down to click it on. They needed to be calm now. In his peripheral vision he could see Rose tense up and move slightly behind Sarah Jane.

“Jimmy Stone,” Jimmy said. He smiled winningly. “Rose, I’ve been looking for you.”

“So it seems,” Sarah Jane said drily. “There’s no reason to barge in like this. Unless, of course, she’s in immediate danger. But fear not, John has only put on the kettle.”

That took the wind out of the lad’s sails. “I need to talk to you, Rose.”

“I told you I can’t work for you,” Rose said. There was a slight tremor in her voice.

“Well?” Sarah Jane said, looking at the young man expectantly.

“Please, Rose. Think about it. We were so good together.”

“No, we were not,” Rose said. “I was good for you for a while, and then you took everything and left. You’re not good for me.”

“That said,” John said, “I’d like you to leave the premises now, please.”

“But Rose!” the lad protested, ignoring him.

“Now. Or I will call the police,” John said softly, pulling his mobile out of his pocket.

Jimmy looked at him as if to confirm that he really meant it, and decided that he probably did. “Think about it, Rose? Yeah?”

“Leave,” John reminded him.

Jimmy squared his shoulders and left. “I don’t want to see you in here again. Ever,” John said, following him to make sure that he left without too much of a fuss.

“And who are you?” Jimmy asked, his hand on the handle of the door.

“I am Rose’s friend,” John said firmly.

Jimmy looked him up and down. “Right you are, chap.”

“Out,” John said.

In his office, the kettle clicked off and whined for attention. John closed the door behind Jimmy and looked after him until he disappeared from sight. When he turned around he found the patrons looking at him. “The cheek,” one middle-aged woman said. “Is your lass all right?”

“Yeah, I think she is, thanks,” John said, smiling, and returned to the office. He was bout to find out if she really was.

By the time he returned to the small office, Sarah Jane had made them each a cup of tea, including one for Naoko which she took to her to give them a moment. The journalist was nothing if not perceptive, and the fact that she’d challenged Jimmy on Rose’s behalf impressed and endeared her to him.

“I’m sorry, John,” Rose said, putting her cup down. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Always come here if that one’s giving you a hard time.” He made a dismissive gesture over his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She had recovered her genuine smile. “Yes, thanks.”

“And, umm,” he began, touching the back of his own shoulder.

“That too,” she said. “And you?”

“Rose,” he began. All the reasons why he’d kept her at arm’s length since that night seemed contrived now that she was here, and he didn’t want to make things worse by trying to explain himself.

“Why did you turn me away?”

He closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. He settled for honesty. “I don’t want to hurt you, or scare you, and I scared myself. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.”

“I was scared,” she admitted, “but I knew you were dreaming, and I wanted to be there for you. After all we did that night—”

“I suppose I was ashamed of myself.”

Rose closed her eyes, and it was only when a tear escaped from beneath her mascara-encrusted lashes that he realised how desperately she’d been trying to hold herself together. He pulled her into his arms and held her. He could protect her better by being with her than by leaving her.

Stupid, daft old man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/191380.html)


	15. Chapter 15

A soft knock on the door reminded Rose of where she was, or rather, where she and John were. She was well aware of his arms around her and his body against her, his warmth and his strength. But she had completely lost herself in him, forgetting about _The Bookshop_ and all the people wandering between the shelves.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Sarah Jane said, smiling apologetically.

Rose let go of him and ducked her head as she did so, pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear. She had no idea how John felt about public displays of affection, particularly with her, and she didn’t want to cause him any grief. While she knew that she and John were okay, she also knew that they had a lot to discuss.

“May I have a copy of this?” Sarah Jane asked, holding up John’s list. “I just got a text, and I’m afraid I have to leave.”

John hesitated briefly. “Sure, I’ll run you one.” He plucked the sheet from between her fingers and disappeared back into the office.

“Did you two fight?” Sarah Jane asked as Rose stepped back into the real world.

Rose crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I know it’s none of my business.”

“You’re right. It isn’t,” she replied, but she felt too drained to sound angry.

“It’s just that… He might not be who you think he is,” Sarah Jane said.

Rose frowned. “What do you mean?” John had been a true friend from the very beginning, although he had been guarded towards her. She knew now why that was, and she couldn’t imagine him intentionally betraying her.

The journalist quickly looked past her towards the office. Then she waved at Rose to come with her to the counter. John’s sketchbook was there, and Sarah Jane flipped it open randomly. Rose gasped at her cheekiness. The sketchbook was private. John had shown her the images of the Aztecs, but nothing more. The journal fell open to a spread showing a tin dog. 

Rose wanted to close the leather-bound journal; she didn’t want any part in Sarah Jane’s betrayal, in her snooping. “Looks a bit disco,” Rose said, frowning. The robot dog was called K9, with two mini satellite dishes for ears and what looked like Geordie LaForge’s visor, only in red, for eyes. He sported a collar and a stubby little tail that looked like an extendable antenna or pointer.

Sarah Jane laughed.

“So, what about it?” Rose asked, looking up from the journal. She finally reached over and snapped it shut. Her cheeks reddened in anger. “It’s private!”

“Ask him where he gets his ideas for these,” Sarah Jane said.

“They’re in his dreams.”

That made the older woman pause. “Are they?”

“Yeah. He told me. About the Aztecs. But I hadn’t seen the tin dog before,” Rose said. “Anyway. They’re none of our business. He doesn’t like to talk about his dreams.”

Sarah Jane frowned and looked at the door to the office. “Well, I’m sorry. It’s just that he reminds me of an old friend of mine.”

Rose didn’t believe her, but before she had a chance to call the journalist out on it, John was leaving the office with a copy of the list in his hand. “I’ve updated it with something I meant to write down earlier,” he said.

“Thank you. I’ll call you if inspiration strikes,” Sarah Jane said. Then she squeezed Rose’s hand and left. Rose followed her with her eyes, frowning.

“Is everything all right?” John asked.

She looked at him. “I’m not sure. She said the strangest things. About you.”

John huffed. “What about me?”

“She warned me that you’re not who I think you are.” 

His huff changed into a frown. “She’s an odd one. She looked at me strangely, and kept going on about a man I remind her of.”

“Yeah, that’s what she told me too,” she said. “And she looked at your journal.”

John’s expression darkened into something stormy. “She what?”

Rose told him about K9 and the Aztecs. To her chagrin she had to admit that Sarah Jane had succeeded in planting a powerful idea in her mind. “Are they really from dreams?” Rose asked.

“Yes, they are.”

“Do you… are there any sketches of… of your family?” she asked carefully.

John’s face went slack, the storm clouds in his eyes blown away as suddenly as they’d gathered. “No. I never dream of them. But I dream of you,” he said, pulling the journal towards him and opening it at a spread marked with a business card. He’d started a portrait of her. It wasn’t quite finished yet, but it was far enough along to be recognisable. John was a talented artist, and he’d captured her so well that she knew that the other people and objects in this book were faithful to their image too.

“I missed you,” he said gently as she stared at her portrait. He’d used pencils to draw her, and looking at it was like looking in a partly steamed-up mirror.

Her head snapped towards him.

“I wanted to protect you, and I thought I could do that by pushing you away,” he said. “I was wrong.”

His eyes were serious and honest, and Rose wondered how Sarah Jane could say such terrible things about him. Clearly, she was the one with the identity crisis. “I only meant to help,” she said meekly.

“I know, I know. The thing is, I have amnesia. Most of the things that happened before the accident are gone. All I have are little bits and pieces,” he explained.

“So when you dreamed of Nell you got some of your memories back,” she concluded.

His expression lit up when he saw that she understood. “I don’t know if it’s a genuine memory, though, because it’s a dream. You know how tricky they can be.”

Rose looked pointedly at her portrait in the journal. “Yeah, but…”

He sighed and closed the book. “I know.”

“So, where does that leave us?” she asked.

“We shouldn’t discuss this here. Let’s go for a meal,” he said. “Assuming that you’re hungry at all? After that shock?”

Rose was unpleasantly reminded of Jimmy, but John and Sarah Jane had driven him away. And even if he was waiting for her somewhere, he’d not be much of a danger. John was with her. “I am. It’s over, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning giddily. She loved how slightly daft he looked when he grinned from ear to ear. She stood on the balls of her feet and kissed his cheek. “I’ll just tell Naoko and get my things.”

“Gives me some time to explore the shop,” she replied, tucking the tip of her tongue into the corner of her mouth. It occurred to her that so far she hadn’t spent more than maybe a quarter of an hour browsing the shop. It was about time she remedied that.

“How long do you want?”

“Hurry. I’m starving.”

They went to the pub where she’d been with Jimmy, but he was nowhere in sight. Now that she was here with John, the place seemed friendlier, and she took her time to look around while John got their drinks and placed the food order. The room was dark and intimately lit, and there was a real log fire in the fireplace. It was a bit early for after-work patrons, so the room was quieter despite a group of tourists in the corner. The telly was on but had been muted. The air wasn’t thick with cigarette smoke yet, but it did smell of fried food.

“Is Sarah Jane a woman from your past?” Rose asked as he returned and put down a coke in front of her.

“What?” He looked up at her in surprise.

“Well, if you have amnesia, and she insists she knows you, how do you know she isn’t someone from before?”

He sat down and sipped his lager. “She says I remind her of someone she once knew, that’s a difference. But theoretically she could be from my past, yeah.”

“That must be scary.”

The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You know, I think it sounds weird to outsiders. But if I allowed it to get to me, I’d be unable to do much. For all I know, we might have met before too.”

Rose wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t really funny. “Yeah, we might. But we haven’t. I’m new in your life.”

“Hello,” he grinned and gave her a little wave.

She slapped his forearm but raised her glass in a toast. “Thank you so much for saving me again.”

“I’d say it’s my pleasure but I hate seeing you scared,” he replied, sipping his beer. “It seems I can’t just… I feel too much for you, Rose. It scared me, which is why I pushed you away.”

“So it wasn’t just the dream.”

He shook his head.

Rose took a deep breath. “What do we do?” She couldn’t tell him what she felt. She wasn’t ready to say it, and he wasn’t ready to hear it.

“I was hoping we could still spend some time together. Solve the mystery of the living toys and go to the ball together.”

She laughed. “Do you really think we’re going to solve it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I have a feeling we will.”

“So what did you find out?”

“Hang on,” he held up his hand to stop her. “Does that mean that… we’re going to spend time together, solve the mystery and go to the ball?”

She smiled. “Not necessarily in that order, but essentially, yes.”

The grin that split his face in half was the most adorable she’d seen so far, and it set the warm and fluttery being free inside her once more. 

“So, what did you find out?” she repeated her earlier question.

His grin faded. “Nothing much. It appears that my toys don’t move, for some reason.”

Their food arrived, a BLT sandwich for him and a bowl of chips for her. The girl serving them wore a fancy tattoo on the side of her neck, at the centre of which glittered a crystal stone. Rose had to look twice to be absolutely sure she wasn’t imagining things. “That’s gorgeous,” she said. The girl smiled and thanked her.

“Impractical,” John said as she left.

“Why?”

He leaned closer to her. “Because I love kissing my girl right in that spot, and the stone would only get in the way.”

Rose swallowed and looked at her food. The chips looked good, but all of a sudden she wasn’t really hungry any more. Or rather, she was hungry for the wrong thing. The sex with him had been gorgeous, and ever since then she’d been torn between recalling the orgasm he’d given her and the sight of him as he arched into her touch and came. It was the first time she’d really watched a man come, and it had been so much more powerful and beautiful to look at than she’d imagined. She wanted more, of both, and the wish, paired with her distress over his dream, had made it hard for her to focus on her work. Luckily, she’d managed to keep busy. But before every shift and after, she’d gone to _The Bookshop_. Today, she’d promised herself, would be the last time. She didn’t want to come across like a stalker and upset John even more than she already had.

“Rose?”

She looked up. “I’d thought I’d lost you.” She told him about her plan.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “I didn’t like Jimmy one bit.”

“It’s hard to understand what I saw in him,” she said. “But I suppose that’s what happens when a bloke tells you you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

He ducked his head. “Yeah, I can see the attraction in that.”

“Particularly if he’s the coolest bloke on the block.”

He smiled. “And here you are with me.”

“Are you fishing for compliments?” she asked, popping a chip into her mouth. It was perfection. Why hadn’t she discovered this pub earlier? She’d have to send Aggie here tomorrow, when it was her turn to do the lunch run.

“No. I’m just… wondering.”

Rose leaned forwards on her lower arms. “Why I’d want to be with you?”

He looked so lost that she couldn’t help smiling. “I like your daft grin and your sweet grin and the way you look when you come. Also, you have the saddest, kindest and wisest eyes I’ve ever seen. And you’re a great kisser.”

“Physical attraction?” he asked in mock offence.

She laughed. “Shall I make you a list?”

John sobered. “I’m old.”

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t like clubbing. I sell books and I read them. I’m a professor of archaeology. I get off on shards,” he said.

That last bit made her laugh despite herself. She wanted him to understand that she knew all this. “I think I’ve had enough of life on the wild side with Jimmy. Which is why I’ve turned him down.”

“And which he didn’t like at all.”

“Do you see me as the manager of a band?”

He reached for her hand. “I think you can do anything you set your mind to, Rose Tyler.”

“I want you,” she shot back.

That shut him up. His thumb never stopped caressing the back of her hand, however, and he smiled for her. “Well then, who am I to resist?”

They finished their meal and ended up at his flat, where he opened another bottle of wine. Rose looked at Cheeky, who had curled up in a corner of his box. John’s toys, however, hadn’t so much as batted an eyelid, and she sat on one of the chairs with her left leg tucked under.

“Why don’t you move?” she asked the toys.

She jumped a little when John touched her between her shoulder blades as he passed her a glass of wine. Her first hangover had been wine-induced, but then it had been the cheap variety that came in a carton, and it had been more about getting drunk than enjoying it. She had no idea what John was giving her; it was well chilled so that the wine could release its tangy fruitiness, and what she liked most about it was the almost flowery aftertaste in her mouth which, oddly enough, seemed to settle in her nostrils as well.

For the moment, however, she concentrated on the warmth of his hand between her shoulder blades. She could feel it melt away the tension that had been lodged there since he’d woken her so abruptly the other night. Rose dropped her chin to her chest with a sigh. “That feels good.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he said softly, but then he touched her with his other hand as well, starting to give her a gentle back rub. Rose felt her muscles soften beneath the pressure of his palms and fingers, and she began to move in time with his strokes.

“Let’s get this off you,” John said at one point, very close by her ear. He reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. She shivered momentarily, but then his hands were back. “Can I use some oil?”

She hummed dreamily, and he left to lubricate his hands with the green olive oil he usually used for cooking. He rubbed his hands and then he was back and Rose’s head fell back against his abs. He was beginning to massage her in earnest.

She realised that it was the first time that he’d seen her without a top.

He’d teased her to orgasm with his fingers, but he hadn’t even seen her. She wondered if his imagination had come up with something for him, based on what he felt, and she was afraid that she couldn’t live up to that image.

She trapped one of his hands between her cheek and her shoulder when he lingered a while, just beside the strap of her bra. His other hand she stilled with hers.

“Is something wrong? Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“No, it’s wonderful,” she said. She turned around. “It just occurred to me that you haven’t seen me half-naked before.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I’m afraid of disappointing you.”

“Never!”

“But—”

“Shush, you,” he said, stilling her lips with his fingers. They carried the scent of olive oil. “You won’t disappoint me.”

He bent to kiss her, smoothing his olive scented hand against her cheek and pushing his fingers into her hair. Rose moaned softly as she felt his wine-cooled tongue slide against hers. The kiss went directly to her core, leaving a twinge behind in her stomach that begged for more.

“Just tell me what you’re comfortable with,” John said.

She looked at his crotch; the kiss had affected him just as much as it had her. “Kissing is nice. And your hands. I feel so much better now. But I’d like to take a shower before we do anything else. It’s been a long day and I feel manky.”

“Anything for you, Rose Tyler.”

The way he said her name sounded almost like a term of endearment. He stepped aside to give her room to stand up. “You’ll smell like me, though. I only have manly shower gel.”

She grinned at him. Aggie worked in perfume and cosmetics, and she provided her with as many samples as she liked. She usually took the hair product ones home for her mum, but the night before John’s nightmare she’d put together a small, in-flight bag with samples of shower gel and shampoo that didn’t take up too much space in her handbag for exactly that purpose.

“Clever,” John said, his expression a little slack. “So. You’ve been confident that you’d need it?”

“Today was the last time I was going to go to see you,” she said.

“So I’d have to thank Jimmy?”

Rose shrugged. 

“I hate the idea. But I’m glad you came. You can always come to me, yeah?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wordamentary](http://clouds-fic.livejournal.com/192126.html)


	16. Chapter 16

He provided Rose with towels and another of his t-shirts before he left her to her own devices in the bathroom. There had been an awkward moment where she’d seemed about to ask him to join her, but she’d rephrased the request one too many times and the moment passed. He told himself that it was for the best. Rose had come to him for protection, and he couldn’t betray her trust by jumping at the first opportunity to shag her.

Besides, he’d not _shag_ Rose. He’d make love to her. That was what she deserved. Her previous lovers didn’t deserve the moniker. All they’d loved was themselves, never thinking to even consider her needs. He hoped that they’d learn; he’d had to learn too, but it was tragic that until they did they’d ruin sex for many young women. There had been something about the way that Rose had come in his arms that suggested that she’d had trouble letting go, and once she did, it was overwhelming.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed her handjob. It was a first for him too, a first with her. But he knew how mind-blowingly beautiful the experience could be.

As he knelt to clean the grate to start a new fire he decided that if she would let him, he’d make tonight all about her. After he was done stacking logs and kindling in the grate he lit the fire and rushed to the bedroom to get some condoms. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared, even if they only ended up pleasuring each other like they had the week before. That had been fantastic in its own right; it was an unhurried evening of lying together and cuddling in front of the fire.

Just as he was about to leave the bedroom to fetch their glasses of wine from the fridge and put on some music, Rose stepped out of the en suite. She had foregone washing her hair, and she was already wearing his t-shirt. It looked smaller on her than he’d imagined it would be, and he had to tear his gaze away from the way her nipples pressed against the soft cotton. 

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” Rose said softly, her face glowing from the steam. She looked so different without all her make-up on. Prettier, in a way, and more like herself. He supposed that in particular the thick mascara was some kind of war paint for her. “Not in this anyway.”

He pulled his hand from the pocket of his trousers. The gesture did nothing to hide his growing erection, and he feared that the foil packets would give themselves away. He didn’t care. If anything, the bulges advertised his interest and his awareness of the fact that protection was his job as much as hers. He wondered briefly if the others had given her a hard time about it, but he pushed the thought aside roughly. _Now is not the time for that line of thought._

“Will you be warm enough in this?” he asked, pointing at the spare blanket he’d slept with the other night. “I’ve lit the fire but it might take a while for the place to warm up properly.”

“Yeah, why not,” she smiled.

“I should probably take a shower too,” he said.

She looked at his crotch. When she raised her eyes to his, he said, “Not because of this. Well. It’s been a long day for me too.”

Instead of an answer Rose stepped into his embrace, and he was amazed how naturally his arms closed around her. She smoothed her cheek against his shoulder and he took in the scent of her shower gel. It was spicy, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it on her. It seemed a tad heavy with her colouring, despite the fact that her hair colour wasn’t exactly natural.

“You don’t have to, not on my account,” Rose said. “I like the way you smell.”

He’d run that morning and taken a shower afterwards, but he could still feel the grime of the city on his skin. “I’ll make it a quick one. It’ll give you a chance to get comfy. Help yourself to any of the books.”

He kissed her quickly, then disappeared into the en suite. The smell of her shower gel was stronger in the enclosed space, but it was soon gone when he used his own. If needs be, he could be in and out of the shower in under ten minutes, he may have set a record this time. A rough rub over his cropped hair, and that was taken care of as well. After, he slipped into his pyjama bottoms (it had pockets, for the condoms, though they’d probably not been made for that reason) and a t-shirt.

“Next time we’ll have to shower together,” Rose announced from the sofa. She had draped the blanket over her legs and was flicking through his copy of the _Radio Times_. On the floor in front of the sofa the fire sparkled in the wine.

He stared at her. “The next time?” He hadn’t even dared contemplate tonight’s sleeping arrangements and she was already so far ahead of him. “Rose,” he began.

She caught on immediately. “It wasn’t like you were throttling me or anything. You didn't know what you were doing.”

“I was slapping you.”

“Because you were distressed and obviously trying to revive me. Nell.”

He remained standing where he was. She was right, and yet wrong. He had slapped her, and although no obvious damage had been done, he’d caused her pain. Who knew what would happen the next time he had one of those vivid dreams? He might mistake her for one of those red sucker-y creatures that he’d dreamed of. They seemed dangerous and he might be even more forceful trying to fight them off.

Rose put the magazine aside and reached out for him. “Come here, John.”

Unable to resist her kindness, he went to her and sat on the sofa. She draped her legs over his lap almost immediately and scooted closer to him. “You’ll have to get used to me sleeping next to you.”

He looked at her. “Rose, this sounds a little…”

“Premature.”

“Yeah.”

She let herself fall sideways into the cushions. He leaned back to be able to look at her. She was moving very fast, and he wondered if she was always like this or if she was just trying to lay his fears to rest. She took his hand and looked at him. “I’m moving too fast, aren’t I?”

He smiled. “A bit.”

“Well,” she chuckled. “Fire in the fireplace? Wine?”

 _Condoms in my pocket._ “I don’t want you to be cold. And—”

She leaned forward quickly and claimed his babbling mouth for a kiss. It took him a beat or two to relax into her. She was right. He was being a big old romantic. A romantic with condoms in his pocket. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share a bed with her, just for sleep. He wanted that a lot. He just didn’t trust himself. “It has nothing to do with the atmosphere,” he said as if she’d never shut him up when they came up for air.

“But?” She looked at him anxiously, clearly expecting rejection.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Let me be the judge of that, yeah?”

He closed his eyes. She was too good to be true. “Jimmy scares you but my nightmares don’t?”

“No,” she said. “It’s different, yeah? Jimmy means to scare me, you don’t. They’re dreams, John. We cannot control our subconscious.”

He cupped her cheek with his hand. “How do you do that?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You always know the right thing to say.”

“So we’ll give it another try?” she asked.

“If that’s what you want,” he said, closing the distance between them by reeling himself in to her with his hand, where it was anchored to her cheek. He was grateful that he was able to relax into their kiss. Rose tasted of wine and was warm and slippery against his lips and tongue. He slowed the kiss down a little, and it took her a second or so to take over. This, too, was something she was obviously not experienced with either.

_Oh Rose._

They broke the kiss only because they’d exhausted their breath, but they leaned back into the cushions, continuing the kiss with their eyes. Her eyes glowed in the golden light of the fire embers. He wanted to anchor himself to their warmth and kindness always. It was little wonder that more selfish men had exploited it. 

They kissed again and again, no words spoken in between, and gradually they learned that words weren’t necessary in their bonding. Dancing their tongue around the others, nipping at lips, sucking them into their mouth, was enough. All the time, their hands remained on each other’s shoulders or necks. John had relaxed into their unhurried kissing so much that the arousal was enough to keep him half-hard. She must feel him pressing against her calf, and he wondered if she was wet too.

“This is lovely,” Rose murmured eventually.

“Yeah,” he grinned and traced the shape of her face with his fingertips. Her skin was soft, and one side glowed in the firelight, the other cast in darkness. 

“What about the wine?”

“What about it?”

“I don’t want it to go to waste,” she said, sitting up to reach for the glasses. She passed him his and they clinked the rims. It was a bit too warm but still drinkable.

Then she took the glass from him and put it on the sofa table behind their heads, and set her glass down beside it.

“Now, Mr Smith,” she said, peeling away the blanket. The air, although warm from the fire, was cool against his legs.

“What?” he asked, and his hands reached out for her waist automatically as she straddled him, scooting so close to him that she must be able to feel his growing hardness. Going by the warmth, and the slight dampness that seeped through the front of his pyjama bottoms, he got his answer. She was just as aroused as he was.

“I—” she faltered, looking down on him.

He brushed back loose locks of her hair. Her face was cast in darkness as the fire glowed on her back. “What is it?”

“I want to make love to you,” she said.

He grinned, but it quickly faded. She sounded as if she owed him. “Do you now?”

She bit her lower lip and nodded.

“That’s… I’d like that, but you know what? I’ve been a bastard, so you deserve to be spoiled. Will you allow me to focus on you?”

Rose stared at him. “Spoil me?”

“I’d like to make you scream my name several times before I let you even near my cock.” It didn’t really help that his cock hardened further at the mental image he created. Luckily, her warmth increased, and he knew that she’d understood him correctly.

“Yeah?”

He nodded solemnly. “And I don’t expect anything in return. Can we do that?”

She laughed but sobered quickly. “No one’s ever done that for me. It was always… about them. Although Mickey did try. He just… And now I don’t want to talk about them any more.”

“What would you like?”

That made her laugh again. “I don’t know.” 

He reached behind him for their glasses of wine and they finished what was in them. “Do you want to stay here?”

“Sofa might be a little uncomfortable. It’s lovely for snogging though.”

He smiled. “Your wish, Rose Tyler, is my command.”

Securing the fire so that it would burn down safely, he took her hand and led her to the bedroom. The wooden floor was cold and smooth beneath their feet, and it creaked under their weight. Rose caught glimpses of his swaying erection tenting the front of his pyjama bottoms.

“I’d like to see you,” Rose said as he closed the door. There wasn’t really any reason to shut it since they were alone in the flat. But he’d developed the habit over the years. 

Wordlessly, he took off his t-shirt and dropped it onto the armchair by the door. Then he pushed his pyjama bottoms down his legs, making sure to free his cock first. He presented himself to her with an almost apologetic gesture. His body wasn’t much to look at with its wiry muscles and the hard plains and ridges. Years of running had preserved his flat stomach, but he sometimes felt that he was too thin. And with his hard cock pointing up and away from him he wondered what she must see. The other night he’d been mostly covered, and although she had performed a very intimate act for him he’d felt more comfortable than now. He just hoped that he didn’t soften under her scrutiny.

Rose smiled as her eyes roved his body. “You’re gorgeous,” she said, her eyes resting on his. She was standing a few feet away and she spoke softly, but her words carried well in the quiet room.

Before he could say anything, she lifted the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up and over her head. In contrast to him, she was all soft curves, her breasts were small but full with pert nipples. He swallowed hard, and all worries of not staying hard vanished. “Rose,” he said, closing the distance between them with his hand outstretched to prevent her from taking off her knickers too. He wanted to do that for her. Later.

He took her hand and guided her to his bed before she could do anything. He wanted this night to be all about her, so he didn’t want to give her any chance to thwart his plans.

“You’re not saying anything,” she said, scooting back on the bed.

“I can’t decide where to start,” he admitted, and it was true.

“Kiss me.”

He stretched out beside her and kissed her, but now he was unable to focus on her mouth alone. Soon, he started trailing kisses across her face and thence to her collarbones and chest. His fingertips went on a journey of their own, but they were never far from the places his lips and tongue explored, jealous of the reward they got. Rose sighed and moaned softly; the more time he took to kiss and caress her the more she relaxed.

The scent of her shower gel had worn off quickly, thankfully, so that the warm smell of her skin filled his nostrils. He couldn’t resist flattening his tongue against her skin, taking in the subtle traces of salt there.

All the while Rose lazily trailed her fingers over any part of him she could reach, and while the sensation was pleasant it was soft enough not to distract him. Her touch was like her sounds, and he memorised the sound his skin made as it brushed hers.

Eventually, he sat up to move to her legs, and Rose stiffened briefly as she thought he was going to take her knickers off. Her gaze also darted to his still erect penis and her lips opened in wonder. For a moment he thought that he’d like nothing more right now than for her to wrap her lips around him, but then that wasn’t the point of tonight. He needed her to trust him first, and he could only accomplish that by spoiling her rotten to show her that he meant it when he’d said that tonight was about her.

“All right?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, reaching for his hand. “That’s lovely.”

“My pleasure.” A host of other answers were shoving and pushing at each other to get out, but he trapped them firmly. Now was not the time for cynicism or sarcasm. 

He ran his fingers along her legs. They were smooth, and her skin shimmered like silk in the soft lighting of his reading lamps. How narrow her ankles were. He rubbed his thumb in circles around the bone there, then cupped her heel and pressed a kiss to the arch of her foot. Not knowing how she’d respond to his tongue on her toes, he sucked the biggest one briefly into his mouth before he released her.

Rose’s reaction spoke volumes. She bucked at the sensation of his warm, soft tongue around the digit and gulped air like she was drowning.

“You like that?” he grinned.

“Yeah, but… it’s my foot,” she said.

“Easier than licking my own, don’t you think?”

Rose laughed, the image he’d created in her mind sending her into a fit. It did the trick, and he trailed his fingers back up her leg to give her other leg the same treatment. Her other big toe received a brief bath as well, but he didn’t want to overdo it the first time.

“Help me?” he said, reaching for the elastic of her knickers. They were a simple pair made of satin with a tiny bow at the top, soft and smooth to the touch, but not as soft and smooth as her skin.

Rose lifted her hips off the mattress so he could take her knickers off. She gnawed at the back of her thumb as he looked at her, but she didn’t do anything to cover herself. After all, he’d undressed for her earlier.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, caressing her in long strokes now to commit the entirety of her body’s landscape to memory.

Her hand fell away from her mouth. “Come here,” she said, and he bent down for another kiss, keeping his weight off her with his hands.

As they kissed he moved between her legs and slowly lowered himself until his cock was trapped between their stomachs. Rose wiggled against him and he groaned at the sensation. Their skin dampened as he prepared to slide into her, but again he restrained himself. He wanted her to come first, to make sure that he wouldn’t hurt her.

He moved down her body and explored with his mouth the place he’d only felt before with his fingers. Rose’s breathing became heavier as he flattened and trailed his tongue along her flesh, nuzzling her clit with the tip of his nose as he tried to slide his tongue inside her. She was ready for him, but it wasn’t good enough yet. Moving his tongue to her clit, he slid first one finger, then another into her. The angle offered new sensations for both of them, and he was quick to find the knot of nerve endings hidden inside her.

Rose came with a moan, bucking into him for more.

Wiping his mouth on his arm he crawled up her body for another reward and to hold her as she rode out her orgasm. As much as he loved oral sex, he hated that it deprived him of the chance to see her come.

Rose curled into him immediately, holding him tight as she tried to slow her breathing. In the process, she draped one of her legs over his hips, and he felt her wet warmth against his cock. The sensation made him groan.

“Rose.”

“Yeah,” she said, rolling them so she was on top of him, straddling his thighs. “Condom?”

His arm flopped towards the bedside table, but he couldn’t quite reach. He really should have slipped a condom under the pillow. 

Rose got one of the foil packets, tore it open but gave the condom to him. “I want it secure.”

He rolled it on, and she watched, but as soon as he was satisfied it was secure, she rose above him, took his cock and brushed its head against her wet folds. Despite the protective layer of latex John arched off the bed at the sensation. “Please, Rose.”

She lowered herself onto him slowly, her face a mask of pain. He felt himself soften at the sight. “Rose, stop.”

“No, I’ve just… it’s been a while. I’ll be fine.”

He caressed her thighs, running his hands up her torso to cup her breasts and tease the nipples. Rose relaxed and eventually, her pubic bone met his.

The feeling of being one with her was overwhelming. She was tight and hot, and it was all he could do not to explode right then. He’d been holding back for quite a while, and he was afraid he’d not be able to do so much longer.

More words wanted out, and this time they were all the same, but he closed his eyes in concentration to hold them back. It was too soon.

Rose began to rise on him, then slid back down; after a few experimental strokes she set up a rhythm and a slightly gyrating movement that gave her pleasure. She didn’t have to think about his; he’d gone to a blissful place already.

Their hands were tightly linked or splayed against each other's skin as she moved, and sometimes she bent for a kiss. They were sloppy kisses, more of a nibble along his jawline, but they came with the added benefit of her hair brushing over his skin. “I’m close, John.”

“Yeah,” he moaned, forcing his eyes open. He pressed his thumb against her clit and launched her into oblivion. Rose cried out sharply, falling heavily. As she clenched her muscles around him, he followed her, arching into her, but all he could hear were her moans.

When he regained his senses he saw that Rose’s cheeks were wet with tears. He sat up with another groan and wrapped his arms around her. “Why are you crying?”

“It was so fantastic,” she whispered, kissing him.

He grinned. “I’ve got you now.”


	17. Chapter 17

17 March 2005

“I’d like to meet him,” her mum insisted as she set a mug of tea in front of her. She curled up in her corner on the sofa as she usually did when she was bracing herself for a difficult argument.

Rose reached for her mug and blew gently over the hot tea. It was a kind of appeasement on her mum’s part, showing her that she was worried. Rose remembered a similar situation when she’d first started going out with Jimmy. “I’ll talk to him, yeah?” Rose said.

“Why are you so scared?” Mum asked.

Rose looked up. “Scared?” She shifted her grip around the mug and ended up balancing it on her knee.

“It’s like you’re hiding him from me. But at the same time you say such wonderful things about him. Has something happened?”

“No,” she said. At least nothing she wanted to share with her mum.

They’d made love twice the night before, and then again in the morning. John had woken from a dream in the middle of the night, but it hadn’t been anywhere near as catastrophic as the night terror. He’d still been embarrassed, but he seemed to acknowledge that nothing had happened, and eventually they’d gone back to sleep.

“You’ve slept with him.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Well, of course I have. We don’t have sleepovers.”

Her mum sipped her tea. “I just want you to be safe.”

“It was safe.”

“I mean I want it to be with someone you trust. Someone who isn’t going to hurt you,” Mum said.

Rose sighed. “I wouldn’t have slept with him if I didn’t trust him, Mum. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Her mum smiled and sipped her tea. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’d really like to meet him. Is that so much to ask? To meet the man who makes my daughter happy?”

“It took you a while to introduce me to Howard, didn’t it?” Rose said neutrally. “You wanted to get to know him better before you did. It’s the same with me and John.”

“That’s different.”

“What? How?”

“I’m your mum. And… and I’ve got to make sure he’s the right bloke.”

Rose was torn between her melting heart and being annoyed by the Victorian sentiment her mum seemed to be expressing. “I’m nineteen, Mum.”

“Yeah, you are, but remember Stacy from across the street, yeah? She had a new bloke who didn’t get on with her kids. And they’re in their twenties. Now all she gets from them is a Christmas card,” Mum protested.

Rose curled up too. “It’s not going to be like that.”

“Did you at least find out if he’s married?”

“He lost his entire family in an accident of some sort,” she said, almost satisfied at her mother’s shocked expression. “His wife and two kids.”

“Oh, the poor lamb. How long has it been?”

“Two years. He’s just starting to feel as if the worst is behind him.”

“That’s horrible, losing your kids and wife,” her mum repeated in stunned compassion.

“Yeah. And he didn’t want to… to start a relationship, and neither did I, and here we are.”

“Do you love him, Rose?”

“Mum, it’s… it’s too early to say. That’s a big word. But it’s definitely something powerful and intense,” she said.

They sat in silence for a while. “What are you going to wear? To the ball?” Mum asked.

“Aggie and I found something in the _Henrik’s_ basement, you know, a dress that was returned. It needs some work, but Aggie’s taking care of that. She practically begged me to let her do the alterations.”

Some of the clothes in the basement had been returned because the customers noticed once they got them home that it was damaged. But it was obvious that some of the clothes had been worn once, but they’d torn or got makeup on it and then brought it back for a refund. It was an unspoken rule that they never challenged the customers’ reason for returning things. There had once been one woman who’d done it one too many a time, and Mrs Parker had talked to her about it; they’d never seen her again. It was also _Henrik’s_ policy that these items would not be resold to customers, but employees could buy them at a huge discount. Aggie had reminded Rose of the small basement room during their lunch break a few days earlier.

They’d found a lovely dress that Rose liked at once, and was one of the few her size on the rack. The cut was lovely, but it was white and so badly stained that she’d put it back at first.

“Don’t,” Aggie said, snatching the cushioned hanger from her. “We can dye it, and the other day I saw a dress that had some lace on the bodice. That should cover up what the dye can’t hide.”

“But where do we get the lace?” Rose protested.

Aggie went to a rack of tops and found one with a hole in one sleeve. So Rose had picked up the two items and a pair of shoes for £50, hoping that the outfit would be posh enough for the ball. 

“So, what would you like me to do with your hair then?” Mum asked. “I’ve got some mags from the shops with some lovely dos.”

Rose smiled. Trust her mum to be practical and rise to the challenge. Even, or especially, when it was her hair. “Show me,” Rose said, moving from the armchair to the sofa. Mum was reaching for the stack of magazines beside the sofa, some were old copies of _Hello!_ and other glossy publications. That reminded Rose of the rainy days when she and Mum had amused themselves by planning weddings and balls by making collages of the rich and beautiful with their own faces pasted on, dreaming themselves into posh Mediterranean or Caribbean beach hotels.

They went through the pages, giggling and ooing over the photos when there was a knock on the door. Rose stood to answer it. It was Mickey.

“Hey,” she said. They hadn’t been in touch in a while, and for a moment Rose felt guilty for not having ended things between them officially. She was fairly sure that he didn’t consider them a couple any more either, but she supposed she’d like the closure.

“I saw Jimmy down the road,” he said without preamble.

“What?” she asked in alarm.

“I thought you’d like to know. He hasn’t been giving you any grief, has he?”

Rose hesitated just a tiny bit too long.

“Bastard!” Mickey exploded.

“No, actually, Micks, he wants me to work for him.”

“As his personal slave or what?”

Rose opened and shut her mouth. He was right. If she went to work for Jimmy it’d be much like that. He’d exploit her because he’d know that she needed the job. “I’m not going to take the job. I’m not that stupid.”

“He also told me you’re dating a guy who’s old enough to be your dad,” Mickey said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“That’s none of his business,” Rose said, defensively.

“Look. Rose. Can I come in?” Mickey asked, looking to his left and to his right. Although there seemed to be no one on the walkway, Rose knew that someone was always listening somewhere, and she certainly didn’t want the news about her relationship with John all over the estate by tea time. She stepped aside and he brushed past her.

“Hello, Jackie,” Mickey said, going straight to the lounge.

“Oh,” Mum said, rising and putting the magazines onto the coffee table. “I just remembered. We’re out of milk.” She hurried out. “Lovely seeing you, Micks.”

Mum knew that she and Mickey needed to talk, and now was probably the best chance to do so. Rose’s mouth went dry at the prospect, but made a mental note to give her a big hug later.

“Is it true?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m seeing an older man.”

Mickey’s mouth opened, but seemed unsure exactly what he wanted to say. “But Rose.”

“I know,” she said, “I’m sorry. I should have split up with you officially first.”

Mickey slumped into the armchair she had occupied earlier.

“Micks?”

“I knew we were over. But that it had to be Jimmy who confirmed it…” Mickey said, crossing his arms. Rose straightened. He was right; she should have told him.

“I don’t even know how Jimmy knows about John and me,” she said, sitting on the edge of the sofa.

“He saw you,” Mickey said, pulling a folded sheet of paper out of the inside pocket of his denim jacket. Opening it, she saw that it was a print-out from the Internet, but what he gave her was a photo that had been hidden inside the sheet. He passed it to her.

Rose didn’t look at it at once. “He’s stalking us?” she asked in disbelief. “He’s trying to blackmail me into work for him with _this_?”

Mickey had the grace to look uncomfortable. If he’d been really angry about learning of her relationship with John from Jimmy, he’d forgotten about it rather quickly. So much for feeling badly about breaking up with him. “I looked him up on the Internet. Dr John Smith,” he said carefully.

Rose finally looked at the photo. It had been taken on Monday afternoon, just as they were leaving _The Bookshop_ for the pub. They were holding hands and looking at each other as they walked down Tenison Court. Rose hadn’t even been aware that they’d been holding hands, she’d been so engrossed in his eyes and the fact that she was probably going to sleep with him that night. 

“This is what I found,” Mickey said, holding out the folded A4 sheet for her.

“He’s a curator at the British Museum,” Rose said, taking the sheet from him without looking at it. “He’s on a sabbatical because he lost his family.”

“We don’t think so,” Mickey said.

Rose frowned. “We?”

“Clive and I. Clive Finch. He’s a… an expert.”

“An expert on what? Is he the one who took the photo?” Rose asked, her indignation rising.

“No, he’s an expert on The Doctor.”

She shook her head and held up her hand. “I don’t understand.” 

Mickey tapped the edge of the sheet she was holding. “Look at it. The Doctor is a man who turns up at different points in time. Historic moments.”

Rose looked at the first photo on the print-out. It was President Kennedy’s assassination, but her gaze was directed by a red arrow to a face in the crowd. It was a grainy image, and the face looked like John’s. There was another photo, from 1912 (scribbled down by Mickey), of a man who looked like John in the port of Southampton. And then a pencil sketch from 1883, in which the man clearly wore John’s features. “It’s the same man,” she admitted, looking closely. It didn’t look like three men from the same family. It looked the same man in all three images, and he looked like John. “What are you telling me?” she asked.

But Mickey had forgotten what he was talking about. He was looking at the telly, which had been on all this time. Her Mum had muted as she sat her down for their talk. A breaking news programme was on, showing shop window dummies wreaking havoc in the shopping areas. “It’s not just toys anymore,” Rose whispered, reaching for the remote to turn the sound back on.

“… two horrible minutes, all the shop window dummies in London came alive and moved from their pedestals. Several injuries were reported as customers and staff alike tried to stop them and windows burst, but no further damage was done. After exactly two minutes the dummies stopped where they were, in mid-movement, frozen in place. Police are investigating. Cynics say they marched for better working conditions.”

“Very funny,” Rose muttered and turned the TV off.

“What do you mean it’s not just toys any more?” Mickey asked, his eyes wide.

She told him what she and John had found out. Her pulse was racing. It had always only been about the toys, they’d never considered the shop window dummies. She hoped that her friends at _Henrik’s_ were all right. Scrabbling for her phone, she decided to call Aggie first. She was on duty and one of the more sensible people who worked there. A quick call confirmed what the newsreader had said. “Have you talked to Josh? Did any of the toys move?” Rose asked, fending off Mickey with an outstretched hand as he tried to say something. She pressed her finger to her lips.

“Only the ones that had been removed from their packaging,” Aggie said. “It was terrible. Ghostly.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rose said. “Make sure you go for a nice drink later, eh?”

“Are you coming too?”

She shook her head. “I have to be somewhere.”

“With the Bloke?” Aggie asked.

“Yeah,” she said. She might as well save them all time by saying it now. It would be easier to get rid of Mickey.

“So you’re meeting him?” Mickey said after she’d rung off.

“Yeah.”

“And what about this?” he asked, gesturing at his research and the photo.

“What about it?” she asked. “They could have been photoshopped.”

“What? No! Rose, listen. The Doctor is a dangerous man. Whenever he turns up, death is never far behind,” he said.

“Mickey, this is John you’re talking about. You don’t even know him.”

“But your John looks exactly like The Doctor,” he persisted.

“As I said, photoshopped. Compare his facial expressions. They’re always the same,” she said. The discovery surprised her as much as it did Mickey. She’d learned to read and analyse images in her Art lessons; apparently, it was suddenly coming back to her now.

Mickey snatched the papers from her and held them close to examine them. “You’re right.” His expression darkened. “So he’s just some nutter.” He was about to crumple up the print-out and the photo when Rose stopped him with her hand on his.

“Give me that photo. I really rather like it. And tell Jimmy to leave us alone. I said no, and that’s my final answer.”

Mickey had the grace to look contrite. “He used me,” he grumbled.

Rose mellowed. “Are we good?”

Her phone rang. It was John.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Have you seen the news?” John asked without saying hello first.

“I have. Listen, I can’t talk right now, but I’ll call you back in a few, yeah?” Rose said. Mickey didn’t deserve to be kicked out. She wanted to make sure that they were all right. Properly.

John hung up, and Rose exhaled.

“So, you and John. It’s serious?” Mickey asked.

“I think it might be, yeah. It’s early days.”

“But you fell for him quickly, didn’t you? Despite school and everything?” he said.

Rose smiled. “I suppose so.”

“I’m glad, Rose.”

“Is there anyone…?”

He shook his head. “I’m not in a rush. I’ll deal with Jimmy, yeah? Gotta dash now. Bye, babe. Rose.”

Rose smiled. Hopefully, their friendship would survive this. They’d known each other all their lives — well, she had — and she couldn’t imagine him not being there. “Thank you. You’re a true friend.”

Mickey kissed her cheek, then he saw himself out.

Rose took a deep breath and called John.

“What do we do, Rose?” he asked.

“I think,” she said, “We should talk to Sarah Jane.”

“I was thinking the same thing. She’s agreed to meet me at the pub down the road from my place. Can you come?”

Rose checked her watch and quickly estimated how long it would take her to get there, including a super quick shower. Although she knew that he wouldn’t mind her having a wash at his place she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was neglecting her personal hygiene. 

“Fantastic,” John said. “I’ll see you then.”

Rose spent only ten minutes in the bathroom, and just as she finished her mum returned, probably from having a cuppa with a neighbour.

“Where is he?”

It was only then that Rose fully understood what had happened, and she hoped that she hadn’t burnt all the bridges with her oldest friend. Getting together with Mickey after Jimmy had been a horrible idea, in hindsight, but it had felt right at the time. Mickey’s loyalty and protectiveness had offered her a sense of security, and his kindness was exactly what she’d needed after Jimmy’s abuse. She felt horrible for having used Mickey like that; he deserved better.

“He left a while ago,” she said, adjusting the towel she’d wrapped around herself.

“And?”

“He knew, but he needed me to tell him that it’s over,” Rose began with a sigh. Then she related most of their conversation to her. What she didn’t tell her mum was the frankly ludicrous story of The Doctor.

“Oh sweetheart,” Mum sighed.

“I don’t deserve him, Mum. I was horrible to him. Classic rebound,” Rose said, holding the towel up now, not because it was in danger of slipping. She just needed to hug herself.

Her mum smiled. “He was there, remember?”

Rose shook her head. “I took advantage of him.”

“Sometimes that’s what friends are for.”

“Taking a firm friendship and wrecking it knowingly?”

“Rose,” Mum began, but Rose stopped her with a shake of her head.

“I have to go.”

“Are you meeting John?”

“Yeah.”

Her mum reached out to cup her cheek. “You be safe, yeah? There were some horrible stories about shop window dummies coming alive. Tell me you’re not going anywhere near them.”

Rose reassured her that she wouldn’t. She felt badly about lying to her mum, since the shop window dummies were exactly why she was going out. But she had a feeling that the established pattern of test runs on Thursdays and Sundays wouldn’t change.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“That’s it!” Rose cried. The toys and the shop window dummies might be a test run. But for what? And how?

“What is?” her mum asked, clearly confused.

“I promised John something, and now I know what to give him,” Rose said, appalled at the speed with which she’d woven the lie.

“You’re drawing again. That’s lovely.” Rose knew that her talent had always perplexed her mum, to the degree that she didn’t understand it, although she’d said that Rose must have inherited it from Grandma Prentice. 

“Sorry, Mum, I’m already running late.”

“You staying out again? It’s just, Howard’s got the painters in, and—”

“Sure, I’ll stay at John’s,” Rose said. It was only later, on the bus, that she appreciated how quickly her mum seemed to have accepted her new relationship. Rose couldn’t help thinking that she might want her to get her own place soon so she and Howard wouldn’t have to plan around when she was home. Between what Mickey had told her about The Doctor and her new theory she had plenty to think about on the bus and she nearly missed the stop at the school. The journey was so new that she hadn’t yet internalised it like she had the route to work.

Just as she pushed open the gate to the school, a silver estate pulled up at the curb. She recognised Sarah Jane and waited for her so they could go up to John’s flat, but by the time Sarah Jane had locked up her car John was joining them.

“I have a theory,” Rose blurted before he’d even had a chance to kiss her hello. Instead, she reached out for his hand, and he took it with practised ease. Rose noticed the journalist’s eyes follow their movement, but Sarah Jane didn’t comment. Instead, she looked up at them with widened eyes.

“Is something wrong?” Rose asked.

“What? No, fine. Everything’s fine,” Sarah Jane said, but a glance at John confirmed Rose’s thoughts. Everything was not fine, but before they could find out why, they needed to discuss the dummies and the toys.

“Shall we?” John urged, tugging at her hand.

“What’s your theory?” Sarah Jane asked, falling in step beside them. Luckily, the pavement was wide enough for them to walk side by side. “I was thinking that the toys and the dummies are just a test run.”

“Why?” Sarah Jane asked as if she’d just told her that she wanted to dye her hair brunette.

“For what?” John asked on the heel of Sarah Jane’s question.

“I don’t know,” she replied, feeling less confident but no less convinced. “It’s as if something was wrong with the toys, or not good enough, and that whatever was wrong, they’ve fixed it and moved on to bigger plastic figures,” Rose said, following the skein of thread that she hoped would lead them to the heart of the mystery. She wasn’t sure where this sudden inspiration had come from, but she was grateful for it anyway.

“They?” Sarah Jane asked.

Rose huffed in frustration. “He. She. I don’t know. It’s usually several people behind something like this.”

“What people?” John asked.

“Students.”

He frowned. “Why would they be students?”

“Up to no good? Research project?”

“A research project that’s got out of hand,” Sarah Jane muttered, thinking of the terrified and injured people at the sites.

“But how does it work?” John asked.

“Did your guys move?”

“Only Cheeky.”

“But why? What makes your guys different from Cheeky?” Rose asked, letting go of his hand in frustration.

“Who are you talking about?” Sarah Jane asked.

They had reached the pub, and John held the door open for them. “After you, ladies. We need a drink before we take this any further.”


	18. Chapter 18

John was glad to escape Sarah Jane’s probing glances for as long as it would take him to place their order at the bar. Hopefully, the journalist would leave as soon as they had finished discussing the living toys and dummies so that he and Rose could have dinner together and go back to his place. His physical need for her was almost as great as his desire to just be with her. If he was lucky, they’d make love again tonight. They hadn’t seen each other the past few days because of their crazy schedules. Naoko had asked for a couple of days off, and he’d felt compelled to give them to her since she’d covered for him so often lately.

The way Sarah Jane looked at him made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure if she’d been watching him with that same intensity all along, but it was as if she were looking for someone, comparing him to this John Smith she used to know. He knew that he’d never met her before, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t figure out a way to ask her about his namesake without getting deeper into it. Discretion may be the best approach, but he suspected that it was already too late for that.

John paid the publican who gave him a tray to carry the drinks to the table. When he returned to the corner table they’d chosen, Rose and Sarah Jane were deep in conversation. The considerable gap in age didn’t seem to prevent them from finding common ground; he shouldn’t be so surprised, he and Rose were together after all.

He and Rose were together.

The concept made him grin madly, and he tried his best to cover it by studiously putting down the tray and serving the two women. When he looked up, he caught Rose looking at him in the same searching way that Sarah Jane used, and he was so thrown that he nearly spilled Sarah Jane’s water.

“You all right?” Rose asked, looking at him in concern. He made a mental note to ask her about her about it later, and plastered a grin on. He could tell immediately that she didn’t buy it for one second, so he softened it. It was more than a little disconcerting how well she knew him already. Or was he just that obvious?

“The question is why your toys don’t move, right?” Sarah Jane said, taking a sip of her water. She sounded so straightforward; as if there was no reason to doubt that toys had the capacity to come alive for a few moments.

“So you believe us?”

“We’ve all seen the news, haven’t we?” she replied with a gentle smile.

“You believed us before, only you weren’t sure how openly you could discuss it with us,” Rose observed.

Sarah Jane looked from her to him. “True. I have had a look at your list. It’s very useful”

John couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew a lot more than she let on, but he decided not to press her for the moment. There was something about her, some sort of nostalgia and a wisdom that he was unable to place. He’d have to ask Rose about it when Sarah Jane was gone. “What did you find?”

“There is a pattern, the toys seem to only become active on Thursdays and Sundays,” Sarah Jane said, “but I can’t tell why it’s important. What I did notice, however, is that all the toys on this list have names.”

“Except John’s,” Rose said. “We’ve been referring to them by what they are, _The Centurion_ , the _horse_ and the _pharaoh_.”

John’s jaw dropped. Why hadn’t he noticed that earlier? “All the children name their toys for their games. But that doesn’t explain why the shop window dummies came alive today. Surely, they can’t all have names.”

Rose coloured. “As a matter of fact, they do.”

Sarah Jane looked just as surprised as John did. “They have names?”

“Yeah. It’s easier to refer to them when we need to move them or change their clothes,” Rose said. “It’s not something that’s common knowledge, though. Because that makes them seem human, doesn’t it?”

“But that’s exactly the point!” Sarah Jane exclaimed, her brown eyes sparkling, her brilliant mind shining through them. “The dummies _aren’t_ human.”

“Yes?” Rose asked. “Neither are the plastic animals.”

“No, but don’t you see?” Sarah Jane asked excitedly, and though John’s immediate reaction was that she was delusional, he began to wonder if maybe, if he suspended his disbelief for a moment, she wasn’t on to something. “They are not human, and what makes them come alive is not man-made either. They are radio-controlled via the some sort of relay-system, maybe even the same one that carries our mobile conversations and text messages—”

“But why? What’s the point? World domination?” Rose asked.

Sarah Jane turned her full attention to her. “Yes!”

John shook his head. “No. I’m not having that.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him.

“But don’t you see, Doctor,” Sarah Jane began.

“I believe,” John said, “that I’m not the kind of doctor you need, Sarah Jane.”

Sarah Jane stared at him, and for a moment she seemed about to protest. But then she slumped as the excitement died. “It’s really not you is it?”

“Who?” John asked.

“The Doctor,” Sarah Jane replied. “He’s the John Smith I used to know, and he did this kind of thing all the time.”

“Living toys and dummies?” John asked gently. “Look, I am a doctor of archaeology.” Sarah Jane’s eyes lit up briefly, but he held out a hand. “If I really were your Dr John Smith, don’t you think that I’d have recognised you? Because as far as I know, I only met you last week. And you aren’t sure I’m your Dr John Smith either, are you?”

“No, but—” Sarah Jane began, but then she stopped herself. “Well, I’m sorry. I am clearly mistaken. So sorry for wasting your time.”

“What are you going to do?” Rose asked softly.

“I’ll keep looking.”

“And what about the toys? How do you know they’re radio-controlled?” Rose asked before he could ask why she’d not recognised him if she was sure he was her Doctor. Sarah Jane didn’t seem delusional, but then you could never be sure with the mentally ill.

“I have a very reliable source,” Sarah Jane said. “I’ll take care of them, don’t worry.”

“Which you’re unable to reveal,” John added.

“I’m afraid not,” the journalist said dejectedly.

“Has John Smith changed? Shouldn’t you recognise him?” John couldn’t help asking.

Her eyes turned to reflect the pity he’d shown her earlier, only now it was directed at him. It told him clearly that he knew nothing but that she wasn’t going to explain herself. Which corroborated his theory that there was a lot more to her and her relationship to the other John Smith than she let on. “Don’t worry about the living toys. I’ll take care of them.”

“How can you be so sure?” Rose asked. “Are you some kind of agent?”

Sarah Jane laughed. “No, I’m not. But I know how to make this nightmare stop.”

“How?”

“I can’t tell you,” she said, standing. “I’m afraid I have to go now. Bye.”

Before either he or Rose could say anything, Sarah Jane was wending her way between the chairs and tables. He noticed the frown on Rose’s forehead, and he wanted to smooth it out with his fingers. He reached for her hand instead.

“That was strange,” Rose said. “She seemed so sure she knew you.”

He told her what he’d been thinking about earlier and Rose agreed, but he could see that she was unable to dismiss the matter. “I don’t know her,” he reiterated.

“You’ve got amnesia, don’t you?” Rose asked gently, looking at him in a way that prevented him from rejecting her question.

“Only about what happened to my family.”

“She never said what kind of relationship she had with her Doctor Smith,” Rose mused. “It might be personal. Something that concerns your family too.”

He drank his cider. Rose was being perfectly rational, and although he was fairly sure that he’d never seen Sarah Jane before there was a nagging sensation that there was more to the story. And he felt bad for dismissing Sarah Jane so easily, especially now that they didn’t seem much closer to solving the mystery of the living toys.

“What difference does it make if a toy has a name when it comes to radio control?” he asked eventually.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Rose said, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It certainly shows an emotional attachment.”

“Just like we use nicknames and terms of endearment.”

“Yeah.”

“So. What shall we call them?” he asked, draining his cider. “It can’t hurt to give it a try.”

“I don’t know. You’re the historian,” she said. “I’d go with Shadowfax for the horse.”

John laughed. “Fair enough. I think Primus and Tut are good names for the others.”

Rose raised her glass. “To Shadowfax, Primus and Tut.”

“Hear hear,” John grinned, raising his glass for a clink although it was empty.

Rose insisted on paying for their dinner this time, and he let her. When she returned from the counter with their order number and a fresh round of drinks, he said, “Sarah Jane is hiding something. What can she do to stop the toys from animating? How does she know they’re radio controlled? I have looked at the guys so often and there’s nothing to suggest they have a receiver or an energy source of some kind. Particularly not the tiny Lego Tut.”

Rose wiped the condensation off her glass. “I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t have cut her off as we did. She clearly knows a lot about this stuff.”

They sat in silence for a while, contemplating their hands on to the table; he couldn’t say when he’d taken hers, or if, indeed, he’d been the one to pick it up. Maybe Rose had reached out for him. “You’re distracted. Is everything all right?”

Rose looked up. “Yeah, it’s just… Jimmy won’t leave me be.”

His mood darkened immediately, but he felt helpless. There wasn’t really anything he could do to rescue her, apart from giving him a talking-to. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“No, it’s worse.”

_What is worse than hurting you?_

She told him about how Jimmy had used Mickey to get to her. And, ultimately, him. “He really is a nasty piece of work,” John sighed, taking her other hand too. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I think I’ll have to see him again and talk to him. Tell him to leave me alone. Explaining to him that he’s got no chance because I’m with you now.”

He couldn’t help himself. At her last words, he smiled widely. “You are, aren’t you?”

She tilted her head to the side and brushed her fingers over his. “Yes.”

He didn’t know what to say for a few moments. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“As am I.”

“Are you going to stay the night?” he asked. Of course, he’d noticed her larger bag, but he still wanted to know.

“Yeah, if that’s all right. Mum hinted that she’d like to have the place to herself tonight. Her boyfriend’s coming over. I suppose she doesn’t want to go to his place all the time. It’s nicer than our little flat, but it isn’t the same as home, is it?”

He nodded. “But you’re doing the same thing.”

She shook her head. “It’s not the same. We’ve lived there together for as long as I can remember, but it’ll always be my parents’ flat. I think she wants me to move out.”

He sipped his cider. “You’re old enough.”

“But I don’t have the money to, not when I’m starting school again in the autumn,” she said.

He looked at the telly in the corner by the fireplace. The news was on, showing the moving dummies all over again. “You’re welcome to stay with me if you want.”

Rose stared at him. “That’s… that’s a little fast.”

“I know!” he hurried to say. “But we have moved fast, haven’t we? I mean, look at us. Two weeks ago we were happy with our lives as they were and weren’t really looking for a change. And here we are now.”

“Are we moving too fast?”

“It feels right.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Their food arrived. Although she could have eaten fish and chips every day of the week, the bangers and mash had sounded too good to pass up. It was the daily special, and the girl at the bar had recommended it. Rose had learned to listen to people like her, and when she took her first bite she wasn’t sorry she’d trusted her. John had ordered a club sandwich, and his chips looked delicious, but she wasn’t going to steal any.

“Think about it. Talk to your mum. Maybe I should meet her,” he suggested, and of course it was only when the words had left his mouth that he realised he was rushing things. It was far too soon to meet her mum.

But Rose laughed. “She wants to meet you too. I think it might be a good idea. Set her worries to rest.”

“Worries?”

“I told her you’re not exactly my age.”

He snorted. “She must be thinking I’m robbing the cradle. Which I am, in a way.”

“Rubbish. You can’t steal what I give freely,” she said in between bites. She gave him that inquisitive look again, and he drew his eyebrows together. There was something on her mind, but she wasn’t ready yet to share. He decided to ignore it. He might press her to say something that should never be said, at least not to him, something that she needed to discuss with her friends. He hadn’t met any of them yet.

“What about your parents?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “I lost them long ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

They had a few more bites in silence.

“What about your in-laws?”

“Nell was an orphan, just like me.” He realised how lonely that must sound. It was lonely, he supposed. He got on well with people, but he’d not had many long lasting friendships.

“Do I qualify then? As a half-orphan?”

He laughed. “Of course. Tell me. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

She shook her head. “Dad died when I was a baby, and I was their first child.”

He nodded. “Just like me.”

“Spoiled brats, us,” she chuckled.

They finished their meals.

“Don’t you find me at all intimidating?”

“Why would I?” she asked, picking up her bag.

“With all my baggage,” he said self-consciously.

“My ex used and probably was in prison too. I dropped out of school because of him. Different baggage, not quite the same weight,” she replied.

“He never… asked you to use? Or did anything to you?” He had to ask. She’d already told him that he’d never forced her, but shame might prevent her from revealing that sort of information. She had been shy around him at first, awkward even about accepting his caresses, but she’d never showed any sign of not wanting him to penetrate.

“No, that’s where I drew the line. Drugs.” She laughed. “Bad analogy, I know. I saw things, growing up on the estate. Drugs is something I didn’t need protecting from. I did fine by myself.”

They walked the short distance to the school hand in hand, enjoying the lengthening days. This was a fairly quiet, leafy neighbourhood, and he enjoyed seeing the budding trees. When Jamie was back, he decided, he’d try his hand at turning his part of the former playground into a small garden. He enjoyed the one at _The Bookshop_ , and he’d really miss it when his tenure there was over.

Rose seemed to have picked up on his thoughts. “How long until you have to go back to proper work?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I’ll have to make some time to come and listen to one of your story times, I haven’t heard you read to the children yet,” she said.

He smiled, pressing a messy kiss to her temple; messy because they were still moving and his aim was a little off. “You don’t have to come to the shop. I’ll read you anything you like. In bed, perhaps?”

“You’re a dirty old man!” she said, slapping his arm playfully, her voice full of laughter. “I’d like that.”

“We could start tonight, if you want.”

“First, you’ll have to play something for me on the piano,” she said.

“Your wish, Rose Tyler, is my command.”

They stopped as he dug his key out of his pocket. He noticed that Sarah Jane’s car was gone. 

“You don’t think I’m needy, do you?”

He shook his head. “No, Rose. I like it when you know what you want. As long as it means that I’ll get in a word now and again.”

She grabbed his arm. “You must tell me if there’s something you’d like me to do.”

“In bed?” he asked. The cider wasn’t that strong, but he hadn’t had anything decent to eat all day, and by the time he’d got his sandwich, the alcohol had already done its job. He felt mellow now, and a little tipsy. “Sorry.”

“In and out of bed,” she confirmed.

They went to his flat and checked on the guys, although both of them knew that they wouldn’t move again until Sunday night. He went to the piano, wiggled his fingers a little and sat down to play. He knew a few pieces by heart, and he played Schumann, not the famous _Träumerei_ , but _Von fremden Ländern und Menschen_ , which he preferred. 

Rose leaned against the column supporting the gallery, watching him. It was a bit tricky to play under such close scrutiny, but eventually he managed to ignore her presence and concentrate on the piece.

“That was beautiful,” Rose said when he dropped his hands to his thighs.

“Do you play an instrument?”

She shook her head. 

“You’re very quiet today,” he observed, holding out his hand for her. As she joined him on the bench, he made room for her and she sat down beside him.

“Jimmy said something about you that I can’t get out of my head,” she began.

He frowned, wondering what it could possibly be. He didn’t urge her to speak, however. This wasn’t to be rushed. He considered himself a man of imagination. He had to be, in his line of work. But when the silence between lengthened he decided to ask anyway. “What’s that?”

“Mickey showed me some pictures with your face in them. Historic pictures, from Kennedy’s assassination and the Titanic and Krakatoa. I told him that they must have been photoshopped.” She looked at him.

“Yes. What a ridiculous idea. How stupid does Jimmy think you are? I take it that he put Mickey up to this nonsense?” Anger flared in him, and he wondered what he could do to stop Jimmy for good. 

“That’s what I told him. Apparently, there’s some nutter who claims that the pictures aren’t photoshopped but showed the same man at different periods in time. Says he’s called The Doctor,” Rose said.

“Doctor…?”

“Just The Doctor, apparently.” He could hear her capitalise the article. “Why does she keep saying that you remind her of a Doctor John Smith although it took her a while to recognise you?”

“I don’t know, Rose. I’m beginning to think that while she’s probably a good journalist she might be wanting a reunion with this friend far too much.”

Rose leaned against him, reaching out for the white and black keys. “Yeah, probably.” She trailed her fingertips over the keys without pressing them. “Would you play some more for me?”


	19. Chapter 19

19 March 2005

John suffered from nightmares in the following nights too, but none of them were as crippling as that first one that had caused him to flee their bed. Rose managed to calm him down and to remind him that they were only dreams; he never told her what they were about, however. During breakfast he sketched the contents of his nocturnal imaginations in his journal. Rose never pried, she was just glad that he had a way to work out his fears, though she'd be lying if she didn't admit that she was disappointed that he wouldn't share them with her.

On Friday, she had a quick tea with Aggie. They were working the late shift, and wanted to use the rest of their break to make some last minute changes to Rose's dress. 

They went to one of the private fitting rooms, where the shop seamstress usually worked with customers. She had kindly agreed to let them use the room for half an hour because it was a slow time for her. Aggie hadn’t shown Rose the result of her work yet; the dress was hidden away in a _Henrik’s_ dress bag. Rose had no idea what to expect. Unlike Aggie she’d not been able to picture the finished result. She took off her shop uniform, shivering momentarily in the cool room.

“Here we go,” Aggie said proudly, finally revealing the dress. It was unrecognisable at first, and Rose couldn’t believe that that was the same dress from the basement room. It seemed as if only the flowing, silk-like material remained. Aggie had dyed it the hue of pale tea, to cover up the remainder of the wine stains down the front. She had also slit the long skirt, so when Rose moved John would be able to glimpse the length of her leg. The grey lace top was short-sleeved now and fitted to the bodice of the dress, and what was salvageable of the sleeves had gone into tails for the bodice. “I think it’ll show off your bum nicely.”

“Of all things,” Rose whined.

“You have a lovely bum. Ask your man.”

Rose stared at herself in the mirror. With the right make-up and the hairdo she’d chosen from her mum’s magazines, she could easily pass herself off as one of the posh people at the ball. “It’s amazing,” she said, smoothing her hands down her chest and torso.

She was standing on a pedestal so Aggie didn’t have to crouch down too low to fiddle with the hem. Aggie looked up at her. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful! You’re brilliant at this.”

Aggie smiled softly to herself and bent over her work again. She still needed to make few alterations. “I hope your man will like it just as much.”

Her friend took the dress home with her and promised to drop it off at the estate before she went to work the next day. Rose couldn’t thank her enough, but Aggie waved her off. “I needed a challenging project. So basically, you did me a favour. Just take a picture of your whole outfit from different angles so I can put it in my portfolio.”

At John’s flat, she spotted his dinner jacket hanging in the dressing room. Fresh from the dry cleaner’s, it was covered in plastic. Her mouth went dry at imagining him in formal wear. There was something about men in dinner jackets and bow ties, and she loved that she was going to have the chance to see John in one.

His earlier comment about taking her on a tour of the galleries and making love to her in a dark corner flashed through her mind, setting off a powerful twinge in her lower abdomen. Maybe she should pick up a pair of hold-ups instead of wearing tights. She loved the idea of giving him a glimpse of the lacy tops through the slit Aggie had added.

“I hope it still fits,” John said, encircling her waist from behind.

“Why shouldn’t it?”

“It’s been a while.”

She turned in his embrace. “I’m sure it will.”

“Come to bed?” he asked, kissing her. As he pulled her against him, she could feel him harden, but she could also feel his mobile vibrate against her hip and she chuckled.

“Have you hidden an adult toy?” she asked, stepping away from him with her best cheeky smile.

John groaned and mumbled something about rotten timing, but he got his phone out anyway. For a moment Rose wasn’t sure if she should feel indignant that she didn't have his full attention, but she quickly shook that idea. So far, John had devoted his full attention to her whenever they were together. Besides, he didn’t get that many calls to begin with, this one was probably important.

He answered the call with a frown, either there was no caller ID, or he didn't recognise the number. “Yes?”

Rose left him then to use the bathroom. Regardless of the intimate nature of their relationship, he still deserved to have a conversation on the phone in privacy. She used the loo and wondered if they might make use of his spacious shower. It was definitely big enough for two, and she’d always wanted to try having sex in the shower. Protection might be a problem, but maybe they could just make the shower about foreplay.

A knock on the door jolted her out of her reverie. Drying her hands, she called for him to enter. _Perfect._

“Rose? That was Sarah Jane. We need to turn on the telly. Now,” he said urgently.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“The dummies have moved again.”

“But it’s Friday.”

“Apparently, the pattern has changed,” he said. He’d never sounded as scared before. There was no hint of his earlier playfulness in him. “We missed the guys move.”

Rose swore and started after him when he turned. They checked the shoe boxes first, and indeed, all four toys had moved. Primus had frozen with his sword drawn, Shadowfax appeared to be looking for something to eat on the bottom of the box, and Tut’s little Lego face looked comically indignant. Cheeky lay on his back, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

“Dear me,” John whispered. He pushed past her and turned on the BBC News. The report was the same as the day before, only now the dummies had wrought more destruction and there were more serious casualties. Rose reached for his hand as she stood next to him.

“It’s terrifying,” she whispered, adjusting her grip on his hand as she watched the dummies on the move again. Although they seemed to move without any discernible intention to hurt anyone, it was that idea that they were remote controlled and might do anyone’s bidding at any given moment that scared her. There was no telling if, or when, that controlling power would eventually reveal their motives. Anything could happen.

“We have to do something,” she insisted. There had to be something they could do, after all they’d already found out about the living plastic.

“There’s nothing we can do,” he said, the muscles in his jaw working.

He’d been standing mesmerised by what he saw on the screen, but now he shifted his attention to her. His sometimes unfathomable blue eyes spoke volumes of his fear, fear for her, Rose realised, and another twinge twisted her insides. This was about her, about protecting the woman he loved. The idea filled her with warmth as well as with dread. He tormented himself over a history he couldn't remember. Frankly, the lack of details upset her too. She hadn't done any research on her own because it felt a bit like she'd be betraying John. She also wasn't really sure where to begin, and she didn’t want to make a fool out of herself at the local library. “What can we possibly do? I have no idea how to track radio signals. We don’t even know what makes the toys tick,” he protested. 

“We named the guys, and now they're moving too,” she pointed out. 

He looked at her for the longest time. “But how does it work? Why does it matter if something has a name before radio signals can reach it? I don’t understand, Rose.”

He was a scholar, and maybe on some level a scientist. He needed it to make sense. “You believed the children when they first told you about their toys. You believed me.”

“I did. But it’s different now. It’s dangerous, Rose, and… and I’ve been unable to protect my family before. I don’t think I can survive that a second time.”

It was hard for Rose to figure out where to start. She related to each of his concerns, but what threw her most was the notion that he considered her family. So above anything else, she dwelt on that. “You… you consider me family?”

He gaped at her. For a moment she thought he might expound on the idea, adding that it included Phineas and his wife and unborn child too. Instead John made her turn towards him by gently cupping her shoulders. Then he dropped his hands to her waist. “You made me do the impossible, the unthinkable,” he began.

A shiver spread from the spots where he touched her and radiated from there to her fingertips and toes. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Rose.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

“And I can’t lose you. All I want to do is keep you safe, preferably here in my flat, in my arms. I know how creepy that must sound, and I cannot protect you. I know that. But I beg you, Rose, to let Sarah Jane do her job. She seems to know exactly what she’s doing. Let her do it. Please, Rose.”

She shook her head, needing to take their conversation a few steps back. “You love me?”

He opened and closed his mouth, but in the end all he did was repeat his request that she stay safe. With him.

Again, it took her a few beats to process that idea. “You love me?”

“I know it’s not… what we agreed on. But the thing is I can’t help myself. So yes, I love you.”

Rose couldn’t remember agreeing to anything, but then she recalled a moment on their first night when she’d shut him up with her fingers on his lips. He’d wanted to say it then, and now he had, and she found it difficult to come up with an adequate answer. He must think his feelings weren't reciprocated. She did love him, but it was so complicated. “John,” she began, but this time it was he who quietened her with his fingers on her mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything, Rose. I just want you to know, without doubt, how I feel about you.”

She nodded, wishing she could tell him that she loved him too. She just wasn't ready to say it out loud. She’d done it before, and both times she’d been proven a fool for saying it. John needed to hear her say it, she knew that, more than anything, but something stopped her. She wanted to, but it was too soon. “I—”

“You really don’t have to say anything. I _know,_ ” he said, amazing her all over again.

She kissed him then, and all thoughts of living toys and shop window dummies were forgotten. They didn’t make love in the shower; they didn’t even make it to the bedroom. John took her, there was no other word, right there on the dining table, and she was happy to give herself to him completely, because if she couldn’t tell him how much she loved him, she could most certainly show him.

He made love to her with his mouth before he drove his cock inside her, and both times he made her cry his name, begging him for more and yet wishing to stop because she was scared of embarrassing herself with her reaction. The second time, tears streamed down her temples, and he scooped her up and held her for a long time afterwards.

They didn’t speak through the entire time. No words were needed. They _knew_ , and that was enough.

-:-

Her mum gasped when Rose stepped out of her bedroom the next afternoon. She was wearing Aggie’s dress; of course, it had been designed by someone else, as had the lace top Aggie had used, but as far as Rose was concerned it was Aggie’s dress. It was very tasteful, but at second glance proved more revealing than one might think. It wasn’t only about the slit down the length of the skirt. Aggie had changed the neckline, making it more daring, and her mum frowned a little about it, but she kept her objection to herself. Her mum knew that she and John had made love, and she seemed to have made peace with the notion that he’d seen her daughter naked and at her most vulnerable, and most beautiful. 

Rose twirled and the flowing material of the dress swirled around her legs. “What do you think?”

“It’ll do,” her mum said.

“Mum!”

Her mum sighed. “You’re beautiful.” There was a wistfulness to her tone that made Rose choke up and hug her mum.

“I’m not going to leave you, Mum.”

Her mum just kissed her cheek. “Now sit down, you, so we can get started.”

“Shouldn’t we move to the bathroom?” Rose asked. Although she knew that day-old hair was better suited for the sort of complicated up-dos her mum had in mind, she felt a little uncomfortable. John loved her hair, and she didn’t want it to feel gross later when he carded his hands through it. 

“We’re fine here,” Jackie reassured her, and pulled the elastic out of her hair.

Rose trusted her, and so she leaned back in the chair and enjoyed her mum playing with her hair. She’d always loved having her mum try new styles on her, even though she’d not admitted to it for most of her teenage years. Her mum had the perfect touch when it came to massaging her scalp, and she knew exactly what kind of hairdo suited people. Rose often thought that her mum deserved better than to have to work out of her lounge to compete with the high street chains. But as long as Mum seemed satisfied she didn’t want to press the issue. She thought that she was good enough to open her own salon or even work in show business. But her mum would have none of it. And Rose knew what the real reason behind it was: no matter if she was running her own salon or working for some production company, it would always mean that she’d be an absent mother. And with Dad gone, Mum wouldn't do that. Sometimes Rose felt guilty for even wishing to complete her education now. 

“Mum?” Rose asked as her mum was working her magic. Rose’s eyes were closed.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Mum asked distractedly.

“Thank you.”

That made her mum pause. “Whatever for?”

“For putting me first.”

Mum continued to work for a few beats. “You’re all I have, sweetheart.”

“But I feel terrible because you’ve never been able to pursue your dreams. Since Dad died.”

“All I wanted was to be a good mum,” she replied.

“You are.” Rose turned away from her hands and met her mum’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Mum’s eyes were shiny, but she bit back any tears. “Just… be happy. That’s all I need to know.”

Rose straightened in her seat. “I am. Happy.”

“Good.” Then she put the finishing touches on her hair and sent her off to the bathroom so she could put on her make-up. They’d decided it should be subtle, and Rose liked the way her lashes weren’t thickly encrusted with mascara. It was a different kind of war paint, a war paint that didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. Rose was stunned by her own reflection when she first picked up the sponge to apply her foundation. The woman in the mirror — woman, not girl — was beautiful and sophisticated even without make-up. Rose had always known she didn’t need to hide herself, but she’d gone with the make-up all girls at the estate had gone with. More chav than style, but she’d not wanted to stick out. Get the boys to notice her, yes, but not so much as to antagonise her girlfriends and foster jealousy. 

Those days were definitely over. When she'd return to school in September she’d go easy on the make-up, knowing she wouldn't have to prove anything to anyone. She had enrolled for the adult's A-level course; more likely than not, she would be one of the younger students.

There was a knock on their front door, but she continued to apply her make-up. It was tricky enough getting it right without letting herself get distracted. There was a moment when she recognised John’s voice. She'd not been able to talk him out of picking her up.

“Mrs Tyler. I’m Dr John Smith,” he said.

Rose imagined him in his dinner jacket, but it was a little difficult because she’d only known him as the bookseller, in casual clothes.

Her mother invited him in.

“I was wondering if you might be able to help me with this thing,” John said. “I've never been able to master it.”

“I can’t say I’ve had much practise either. But I’ll try.”

Rose frowned, wondering what they were talking about. “Would you like a cuppa? Rose might be a while yet. Sorry for the mess.”

“That’d be lovely,” was the last thing she heard John say before she pictured them entering the lounge. They were too far away for her to make out the rest of their conversation. But she fretted about what John might make of their flat. It wasn’t much to look at, particularly not the hall, which had been stripped of its wallpaper and bore the marks of paint samples. It was okay for a two-bedroom flat, but it was a council estate. It was all Mum was able to afford. It wasn’t anything like the converted school house John lived in. 

Rose focused on her reflection, the glamourous image of herself, and added the finishing touches of blush and lipstick. Then she took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall.

In the lounge, she could see her mum working on John’s bow tie. Rose stopped in surprise to watch, which was, of course, the very moment when Mum saw her. “I learned from Uncle Archie,” she said, and John looked up. His expression was priceless.


	20. Chapter 20

“You seem distracted,” John said on the Tube. They'd been sitting, silently so far, beside each other as the train rattled them through the dark, narrow underground world of London. Their fingers were laced through each other and his thumb was stroking hers. He noticed the looks they were getting from other passengers, of course, but either he ignored them or he beamed proudly at them, depending on what he saw in their eyes. They usually turned away, succumbing the unwritten code of Tube travel – do not interact with strangers.

“I was just wondering about the shop window dummies and the toys,” she said. They were going to miss them tonight because the ball started early. He was glad because the living plastic scared him more than he was willing to admit. They were out of his control, had been all along, but now that it was clear that he wanted to keep away from whatever controlled them. He wanted to keep Rose safe.

“Sarah Jane said she’d find a solution,” he reassured her. It was lame, he knew that, and Rose didn’t even bother to reply.

He stared at the ads and the map above their heads, the dark blue line and dots outlining the route of the Piccadilly Line. “I can’t do anything.”

“Why not?” Rose asked finally, turning to look at him.

“I have no idea how my family died. Suppose I tried to protect them from moving plastic,” he said.

Rose sighed. “This is the first time we’ve heard of it.”

Anger welled up in him. “That’s not the point, Rose,” he said sharply. “It could have been anything, and I failed to keep them safe.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It could have been anything,” she said dejectedly, but she didn’t sound convinced.

“What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t googled me?”

She sounded upset. “Why would I do that?”

He deflated. “I’m sorry.”

She gave his fingers a light squeeze. “Would you like me to google you?”

Part of him wanted to say yes, but he was sure that her search wouldn’t turn up anything he didn’t already know. What her search wasn’t going to turn up was whatever he needed to help him unlock the memory. He was emotionally disjointed, but he knew that he was the only one who could put him back together. “No,” he said eventually, studying her fingers woven through his. Her skin was lighter than his, her fingers so much thinner. Her hand felt small in his, small and fragile, and he didn’t want to break her.

“Can we make tonight just about us?” he asked, looking at her. Then, leaning in because he didn’t want everyone else to hear his words, he said, “I’m so happy that we’ve found each other. So happy.” He knew he was taking a risk by saying it; he might scare her off or he might jinx it. The living plastic was a very real threat, and he hoped that they could have this night together.

He inhaled deeply, relishing the way she smelled, and nuzzled his nose against her ear, sending a shiver down her body. “Please, Rose.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, shaking again. “Yeah.”

He smiled and sat upright, giving her fingers a squeeze. 

They walked the short distance from Russell Square to the British Museum. It was a mild night and part of the reception was being held in the courtyard outside the museum. The stone had absorbed the heat from the early spring sun and was giving it off as the sun sank behind the dark cityscape of the buildings around them. They each helped themselves to a glass of champagne as they entered the gates.

Of course, his colleagues spotted him right away flocking towards him to find out how he'd been, and they looked at Rose with surprise. When he introduced her, he called her his girlfriend, and the museum people smiled. As did Rose.

“Girlfriend?” she asked when they were alone for a few minutes.

“Is that all right?”

“Yeah,” she beamed at him. 

He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Can’t kiss you here,” he said.

“What about that tour of the museum you promised me?”

“Later,” he whispered, kissing the top of her cheek.

“John! There you are,” Phineas said, as he approached with Becca on his arm. She practically glowed, and although he knew it was too early yet for her to show his gaze travelled down to her stomach.

“Phineas, Becca!” he said, this time truly delighted. “Meet Rose Tyler. Rose, this is my best friend Phineas Harcourt and his partner Becca Sharman.”

Rose smiled at the couple, shaking their hands and extending her congratulations. “John told me you asked him to be the godfather to your child,” she said.

“Yes, we’re glad he agreed,” Becca said, smiling warmly at him. 

Darkness had fallen and the temperature began to drop so they moved into the warm, domed Courtyard, which was brightly lit for the occasion. The triangles in the roof took a deep blue hue from the lights, contrasting with the radiant white walls. Together they created the illusion that they were somewhere in the Mediterranean. The place definitely had a classical feel to it, that encouraged visitors to get lost in the rich history contained in the comparatively young building.

There were more people to meet and greet, and he feared it was going to get a bit much for Rose, but she was gracious and had a smile for everyone even when he was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Phin and Becca were nowhere to be seen; they were probably looking after some of the more important guests. He should really be doing that too, making the new ones comfortable and answering their questions about his work.

“Let me show you something,” he said, taking Rose’s hand and pulling her to one of the temporary displays that had been moved to the courtyard to show off their work. John had helped to arrange the Ancient Egyptian section and had written the information on their latest project, an excavation they were about to start in conjunction with several international universities. All of the projects displayed in the courtyard still needed some funding. “This is what I do when I’m not selling books and reading stories to children.”

He was proud of his work, and while he was excited about the dig, he also felt detached from it, almost as if it weren’t his project any more. The lion’s share of planning and talking to the right people had been his job, and he should be proud, but instead he was glad that after tonight the glad-handing stage would be over and the real work could start. He was going to go to Egypt for a few weeks to supervise, but most of the work would be done by the field archaeologists.

“That’s fascinating,” Rose mumbled, trailing her finger over the map that was part of the display.

“Dr Smith!” His assistant, greeted him with a wide smile. “You look so well. The sabbatical seems to be working wonders. Oh, and who’s this?”

He introduced Rose as his girlfriend, and Miranda accepted her with a warm smile. No one seemed to be worried about the late Mrs Smith, which he found a little odd, but quickly dismissed when Miranda gently hinted to him that the important guests had arrived. This was the point when he had to leave Rose’s side to concentrate on his work; sabbatical or not, the dig was more important than his personal enjoyment. Rose knew he’d have to work and he’d promised to make it up to her later.

The guests seemed interested enough and asked a lot of questions, but they drifted away soon to other displays. He wasn't worried. He knew they’d return for a second look and with fresh questions, usually better ones once they’d had a chance to mull things over a little.

To his delight he noticed that Rose was chatting with them too; she seemed relaxed and she looked so beautiful as she smiled and laughed with them.

“She’s amazing,” Phin said, brushing his elbow to offer him a glass of water.

“She’s fantastic,” he nodded, but he couldn’t help suppressing a feeling of jealousy as she flirted back at the younger very important guests. 

“Are things serious between you two?” Phin asked, looking at Rose in her gorgeous dress and with her hair done up like one of the women at the BAFTAs. He couldn’t wait to remove the pins and feel her hair, heavy and soft, against his skin.

“It’s a bit early,” he began.

“Who are you trying to fool? She’s clever and gracious and she's already supporting your work,” Phin pointed out. Rose was smiling as one of the women in her little group introduced her to an elderly couple.

“She’s like a Roman goddess!” he heard the woman exclaim. All the rest of the group concurred when the elderly woman mentioned it. John frowned and Phin pursed his lips.

“You know, she’s got a point. She does look a bit like our Fortuna, doesn’t she?” Phin mused, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“I’m not so sure.”

“Come!” Phin dragged him up a few flights of stairs and through darkened galleries he knew like the back of his hand. By the time they arrived at the statue in question, John’s eyes had adjusted to the light enough that he could see that they were right. Rose and Fortuna bore an uncanny similarity.

“Striking,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I’d better not tell her. It might freak her out.”

“Yeah, considering what's been going on lately. I’m not sure I’ll let my son have any plastic toys,” Phin mused as they returned to the Great Courtyard.

“I’m sure that the nightmare will be over by the time he — or she — is old enough to play with that kind of toy,” John said, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. Sarah Jane had promised him to take care of the living plastic by herself, but his guilty conscience was beginning to get the best of him, and he wondered if helping the nosy journalist might not be exactly what he needed. Maybe solving this puzzle would be a step towards healing. A penance of sorts.

By the time they arrived in the Great Courtyard the dancing had started. It was going to be tricky to find Rose among the milling people. He and Phin split up to find their respective partners. It would have been easier to find Rose earlier, when the guests were looking at the exhibits rather than congregating all in one place. He’d promised her dancing. She’d been shy about it at first because she hadn’t had any lessons since she’d left school. Her PE teacher had been keen on teaching them the basics at least, although at the time they’d all pooh-poohed the idea of ever needing ballroom dancing.

He returned to his exhibit, and to his surprise Rose was waiting there for him, perusing one of the leaflets. Her face lit up when she saw him. “Hello,” she smiled, the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

“Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah. All those people are more interesting than I thought they'd be. And they’re really interested in your work,” she said. “Which is amazing, by the way.” She held up the leaflet on the planned dig.

He felt his ears warm a little. Although Nell had been interested in his work, she’d never seemed to adore him for it the way Rose apparently did. Rose was genuinely interested and respectful of his passion for _shabtis_ and obscure languages. “May I have the honour of this dance with you, Miss Tyler?”

She laughed nervously. “You’ve been warned, but apparently you’ve no sense of self-preservation.”

“I’ll live,” he whispered, stealing a quick kiss from her lips.

He led her to the dance floor and whisked her into his arms with an elegant twirl. Their arms and hands slid into place as if they’d done it many times before, their bodies touching in all the right places. Rose responded well to his lead, and she proved a quick study as he guided her safely among the other dancing couples. He rested his chin on her temple as he held her close. He wasn’t going to let her go.

Then he told her about Fortuna.

“Isn’t she the goddess of luck?”

“Fitting, isn’t it?” he whispered. The dance ended and she peeled herself away from him.

“Show me.”

“Later, yeah? I’m a bit peckish.”

“Ah. Can’t have that,” she smirked, taking his hand pulling him towards the buffet. 

He froze when he saw Sarah Jane standing there, her plate filled with assorted nibbles and canapés. “John,” she said, smiling. “Rose.”

“I didn't expect to see you here,” he blurted. “What about the living plastic?”

“It’s all under control for now,” Sarah Jane said, but she didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Meet my friend, Ian.” She extended her hand to an elderly gentleman with white hair and glasses; his eyes sparkled and had a youthful quality, and he wore his dinner jacket with a surprising strength to his shoulders. His skin also had a glow that people his age usually lacked. _How old is he?_

“Delighted,” John said.

Ian gave him a searching, shrewd look. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes,” Ian said. “And this must be your companion. Rose, yes?” Rose shook Ian’s hand with a smile. “My wife couldn’t make it tonight I’m afraid, so I asked Sarah Jane to be my plus one.”

Sarah Jane shrugged. She looked younger with her hair swept up and in an elegant dress. “So you’re not here professionally?”

She hesitated a beat before she said no.

“Well then, enjoy the evening,” John said when the silence began to feel uncomfortable. He wanted to sample the food, dance with Rose, answer more questions about the dig, and then whisk Rose away for some naughtiness in the darkened galleries. He’d spied the bare length of her leg more than once as she moved and the flowing material of her skirt fell aside.

“John, a word, please,” Ian said, touching the back of his elbow to steer him away from the food to a quiet spot. “I’m sorry about being so rude, but I have to ask.”

John opened and closed his mouth.

“I know you. There’s something in your eyes. An old soul,” Ian said.

“Yes, well,” John shrugged. _I’ve lost my family in a horrible tragedy._

“You really don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” John asked, straightening in alarm. He looked over the shoulder of the old man, seeking for Rose’s reassuring presence, but Sarah Jane had taken her aside, talking intently to her. She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her minuscule handbag.

“This,” Ian said before John had a chance to see Rose’s reaction to whatever Sarah Jane was showing her. His gaze fell on his fob watch in Ian’s steady palm. There was no doubt it was his watch. No other watch he’d seen had the same pattern of intricate swirls and circles etched into the cover.

“Where did you get that? It’s mine,” John said, his voice dropping in indignation. He reached for the watch, and to his surprise, Ian didn’t close his fingers around it to keep it from him. The watch was heavy and warm against his palm.

“Naoko gave it to me,” Ian said calmly.

“Why would she do that?” John frowned. There were so many questions whirling about in his head, questions that couldn’t keep time with the music and stumbled over their own clumsy feet.

“Because this is the key to finding the one man who can help with the living plastic,” Ian said, holding his gaze.

“What do you mean? Where’s Rose?” He’d kept an eye on Rose and Sarah Jane, but the two had disappeared, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Rose will be fine. Sarah Jane needs to talk to her for a few minutes,” Ian reassured him, laying his hand on his upper arm, but John shook him off.

“What is this? I want Rose back now.”

Ian sighed. “Perhaps there is somewhere less public where we can go?” Ian suggested.

It was a good idea, but John couldn’t shake the feeling of being cornered. To his relief, he saw Phineas approaching them, but when his friend saw his tense expression, his smile faded. “John? Is everything all right?”

“This is Phineas, my best friend. I have no secrets before him,” John said.

Ian and Phineas looked at each other, the former appraising while the latter looking confused. “What is this about?” Phin asked.

“A matter of life and death,” Ian said gravely.

“I have no idea what this is about, but I’d feel better if you came with us,” John said.

Phin nodded and gestured for them to precede him through the entrance to the prints gallery. It was dark in there and they were quiet while their eyes adjusted. John had closed his fingers around the watch but hadn’t slipped it in his pocket. Somehow it offered him support although it should be Rose’s hand in it.

“What is this, Mr…?”

“Chesterton,” Ian said. “But please, call me Ian. After all, we’re all friends.”

John huffed.

“Please, hear me out, John,” Ian said, looking at Phin for support. Phin, still flummoxed, shrugged. “Sarah Jane approached me yesterday afternoon with a plea for help. It’s about the living plastic. She’s figured out why it comes alive.”

“What?” Phineas asked, putting voice to what John was thinking. 

_Would Rose find him in here?_

“The toys, and now the shop window dummies, are radio controlled by the Nestene Consciousness, an entity from another planet that is attempting to take over the Earth. Apparently, their own world has perished, forcing them to flee and find a new place to live. The dummies are their army,” Ian explained matter-of-factly.

There was no alcohol on his breath, and his eyes were clear and alert. There was nothing to suggest that he was lying or under the influence of any drugs. “What about the toys?” John found himself asking. He’d been willing to listen to the children, he found himself inclined to do Ian the same courtesy, no matter how outlandish his words.

“They were just a test run of sorts,” Ian explained. “I know how this must sound.”

“Do you?” Phin snorted, but John held up his hand to quieten him.

“Sarah Jane has the means to uncover alien activity on Earth, and most of the time, luckily, ideas and the power to deal with it,” Ian said.

“But not so now,” John finished his thought.

“No. But she found something that can help us.”

“And what’s that?” Phineas asked.

“A blue box.”

“A blue box?” John repeated.

“It’s a police public call box, and the one in question is in I M Foreman’s Scrap Yard,” Ian said.

“On 76, Totter’s Lane,” John said.

“That’s the one,” Ian agreed, his eyes brightening. “You know it?”

“There’s a business card in my journal. I use it as a bookmark, but I have no idea why I have it,” John said, although a vague feeling that he’d put it there as a reminder forced its way to the surface of his consciousness.

“It is you after all,” Ian said, sighing in relief.

“Who?” Phineas asked. “Who is he?”

“The Doctor.”


	21. Chapter 21

“Where are we going?” Rose asked, looking back over her shoulder to catch a last glimpse of John, but the crowd was closing behind her and Sarah Jane, blocking him from view. Suddenly she was very aware of the woman’s fingers around her wrist. Rose wanted to shake her off, but her grip was strong.

“Don’t worry, just in here,” Sarah Jane said, pulling her into one of the darkened galleries. Rose thought that this was where John had wanted to literally take her; she’d been looking forward to that bit of naughtiness for a long time, and she had a feeling that it wasn’t going to happen now.

“What’s wrong?” Rose said, giving up her struggle.

Sarah Jane relaxed and slowly let go of her. “It’s the living plastic,” she began. “There’s only one man who can save us. The Doctor.”

“But—” Rose began. She remembered Mickey’s pictures and how she’d thought he and Jimmy were trying to drive a wedge between John and her with a set of photoshopped images. Sarah Jane now held out the same set of pictures to her, plus a few old-school photographs. The dim light made it hard to see, but the man in the print-outs was John. The men in the photos looked as different as could be: a distinguished-looking man, one with a striped scarf and wild curls, and a fresh-faced blond in a cricket outfit.

“They’re all the Doctor,” Sarah Jane said.

Rose looked up, thrusting the photos back at her. “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked. “I know about the age gap and I know about his terrible loss.”

Sarah Jane’s eyes widened. “What loss?”

“His family. He lost his wife and kids.”

“This is about the Doctor, Rose. Not John. He’s not who you think he is.”

“What do you mean?”

Sarah Jane gestured to a bench and went to sit down. Rose followed, glad she didn’t have to concentrate on standing any longer. This was a lot to take in.

“You’re right about the age gap, but it's far greater than you can imagine” Sarah Jane said. “The Doctor is several hundred years old, and he has the power to regenerate when he’s fatally wounded,” Sarah Jane said. “He literally becomes a different man. That’s him in the pictures.”

“But that means he’s not human,” Rose said, the words spilling out of her in an attempt to make some sense of things. She looked at Sarah Jane. “How do you know all of this?”

“Because I travelled with him. A long time ago,” she said, her tone taking on a wistful note.

“So he’s… alien?”

“Yes.”

“But he never said. He doesn’t even remember how his family died. He has amnesia. And he’s very human,” Rose said, thinking of him naked. There was nothing about him that suggested he was alien. “He’s never mentioned you. Or travelling.” 

A hint of hurt flitted over the older woman’s face and Rose almost felt glad, but she saw the genuine pain in her eyes, a pain that was too close to heartache and grief to deserve such pettiness. “Sorry.”

Sarah Jane smiled. “He truly doesn’t recognise me. I think he must have changed more about himself than just his body. But I know him, Rose, I can tell from his eyes that it is him.”

She was so sincere that Rose decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “So what kind of alien is he?”

“A Time Lord. He travels in a blue box, a police box that was in use in the fifties. You might have seen one or two around,” Sarah Jane said. “It’s called the TARDIS and it travels in space and time. It’s the most wonderful ship.”

“Sounds a bit small to me,” Rose mumbled, playing with the tasseled hem of her lacy top.

Sarah Jane laughed. “Oh no, the TARDIS is bigger on the inside. Bigger than any place you can possible imagine.”

“But why would he want to forget about all that?” Rose asked. Part of his loss must be genuine. Why would he want to forget his past? She’d read in a magazine once that our memories are what define us, and vice versa. Although there were things she’d rather forget there were definitely enough things she did not want to give up. Without them to prod her, she’d not be trying to improve herself and go back to school.

“We don’t know.”

“We?”

“Ian and I,” Sarah Jane said. “Ian Chesterton. He and his wife travelled with the Doctor long before I did, and the Doctor looked different then, but he is the same man.”

“What’s his name?”

“Oh, the Doctor is his name,” Sarah Jane replied. “He uses John Smith as an alias sometimes, when he needs to be incognito.”

“Is that what he’s doing now? Travelling under an alias?”

Sarah Jane shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Or it must be a deep cover, but I saw it in his eyes. He truly didn’t recognise me, and he didn’t recognise Ian either.”

“Is there like a club? Of former travel companions?” Rose wondered, adding to herself, _And where do I fit into this?_ But it couldn’t be. John couldn’t be an alien, no matter how strange the events of the past few days were.

Sarah Jane laughed again. “No. Ian and I only met by chance. We’ve found the TARDIS. She’s in a junk yard in Shoreditch, where Ian first met the Doctor in 1963.”

Rose fell silent. There were still so many questions, but they had to wait. For now she found it difficult enough to sift through her thoughts and find out if the believed Sarah Jane. It was an elaborate lie, involving so many people who didn’t know each other; but to what end? To make fun of her, a shop girl whose only dream was to work off her debts and go back to school to get her A-levels, and maybe go on a trip to Paris? That seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to. Even for Jimmy, who seemed to have the means now. But it was also far too clever a plot for him. And Mickey would never do something like that to her.

As for John.

“He keeps a dream journal. He showed me a tin dog the other day.”

“K9,” Sarah Jane whispered. “I’ve still got him. He made me aware of the Nestene Consciousness in the first place.”

“What is it?”

“It’s living plastic. It's trying to take over the Earth, and the toys were just a test. It’s the shop window dummies they’re after. They turn them into a kind of plastic robot army. Remote-controlled, indestructible. Ubiquitous.”

“And he’s the only one who can stop them? But how, if he’s not himself?” Rose asked.

“That’s where you come in. We were hoping you’d help us,” Sarah Jane said gently. “I know it’s asking a lot, because you love John. And helping us means losing him.”

“Will he get hurt in the process?” Rose asked, pushing aside her own feelings. There was no doubt she was going to be hurt, even more the longer this went on. There might be a time and place to dwell on it. But the future of mankind was at stake. Of course, it was unfair. Now that she’d finally managed to get her life back on track, complete with a man she loved and who loved her back, it was all being taken away from her again. Maybe she was the kind of person who didn’t deserve personal happiness.

“John? I honestly don’t know,” Sarah Jane said. “I don’t know what happened to the Doctor to make him this way.”

“He’s a good man,” Rose protested.

“I’m sure he is,” Sarah Jane replied.

“So what now?” Rose sat up a little straighter.

“We were hoping you’d talk to him. Obviously you share a strong emotional bond.” Sarah Jane sounded clinical, but Rose could see through her armour. It was jealousy. Just how deep it ran she couldn't tell. It was certainly more than just jealousy over travelling with him, because that hadn’t happened yet, at least not in a bigger-on-the-inside police box. Just an equally-small-on-the-inside underground carriage.

“But where do I begin? And what makes you so sure I’ll do it?”

Sarah Jane smiled at her. “You’re with him. That’s all the credentials we need. And you can start anywhere you like. That dream journal might be a starting point.”

“I haven’t got it on me. And I don't know what’s in it. He’s only shown me K9 and the Aztecs.”

“I’ll show you,” John said. He was silhouetted against the doorway, his black figure outlined against the brightly lit rectangle of the Great Courtyard behind him.

“John!” Rose gasped, standing. She went to him for a hug.

He wrapped his arms around her.

“Do you believe them?” she asked, pulling him outside into the noisy bright hall where the ball was happening. She saw Ian standing there expectantly.

“He told me some things that make sense. And he promised me help with my dream journal. I need answers, Rose. About who I am.”

“So you truly believe that you might be an alien?” Rose asked.

“We’ve seen living plastic. There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” John said, grinning. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, though, and Rose thought she saw fear in them.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I think I have to. I need answers, Rose, and the threat of the living plastic is real. We saw what it can do. And it scares me.”

“So?”

He took a deep breath. “So we’re going to go to my place and have a look at the dream journal.”

She nodded, clenching her jaw. The feeling of dread and impending loss caged her breath in, trapping it deep within her where it couldn’t get out in a scream of protest.

Ian flagged a taxi down in Great Russell Street and they set off into the night towards the school. They sat in silence, but when she reached for his hand they laced their fingers together. His palm was sweaty and cool against hers, but she supposed that her hand betrayed her anxiety just as much. She had a feeling that it was all true, and that these were the last moments she'd have with John. Still, she didn’t dare look at him and studiously stared out into the colourful night.

John was as gracious a host as ever. They inspected the four shoe boxes, showing Ian and Sarah Jane their experiment. Of course, all four toys had moved. Primus had even managed to jump up to reach for the edge of the box, and he’d frozen hanging on to it with his right hand. John gently unhooked him and put him on the floor of the box.

After he’d made tea for everyone he got out his dream journal and they leafed through it. They started with K9, then came the Zygon, a hideous red thing covered in suckers that was actually a shapeshifter. Something that looked like a pepper pot with a plunger and an egg whisk for arms that was called a Dalek. Cybermen, Silurians, Ice Warriors, Sontarans. Sarah Jane and Ian could name them all and they had a terrifying story to go with each of them.

At one point, they made themselves more comfortable. Rose changed out of her dress and into her jeans and a t-shirt, while John took off his bow tie and dinner jacket. In the process, he removed his fob watch from the pocket of his trousers and put it on the table.

Rose reached for it, curious about the intricate design on the top, and took it in her hand. It was far warmer than it should have been just from John’s body heat. She was about to point that fact out when she noticed a pulsing in the watch, and small voices whispering to her of a Time Lord.

Startled, she dropped the watch. John, who was very fond of the watch although it was broken, reached for it. “Oi!”

“It spoke to me!” Rose gasped. “The watch spoke to me.”

“What did it say?” Ian asked as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world to happen.

“Time Lord,” Rose said.

They fell silent.

John yelped. He started to hold it like a hot piece of coal, and then with one sudden burst golden tendrils of light started to seep from between the seal where the lid met the watch. It looked like a plant growing from seed in time-lapse photography, only that the roots weren’t solid. They looked like steam curling up from a cup of tea. The tendrils of light and energy sparkled and engulfed only her.

“Time Lord.”

“Open me.”

“The secret lies within. I'm trapped. I'm kept inside the cogs.”

“The Last. The Last of the Time Lords.”

“The Oncoming Storm.”

“Lord of Time.”

“Open me.”

“In the dark, waiting. Always waiting.”

John wanted to drop the watch, but instead he found himself cradling it carefully in the cup of his palms. He looked up at Rose and Sarah Jane and Ian, who looked at him with the oddest mixture of expressions; Shock and amazement, awe and terror. “Please!” he begged them, “Do something.”

Then a jolt jerked him upright, straightening him as if he were a marionette that was about to be brought to life by his puppeteer. “Darkness is coming,” he said. Although it was his own voice, Rose was sure he wasn't the author of his words. It was such an odd thing to say. “Power of a Time Lord. Restore me. Open me. Sleeping. No More!”

The last words were spoken with such urgency that the words shook him. Terror widened his eyes, and Rose understood that only John could open the watch. It was his watch. His Time Lord consciousness had been hiding in there all this time, waiting to be released when the danger to Earth became too grave.

“Please, Doctor,” she whispered. The watch was forcing her to beseech him, but she also understood that she had to do it. If anyone could get the Doctor back, it was she. John Loved her. He trusted her.

Terror had darkened his eyes and he shoved the hot watch into her hands, stepping away from her. “No. I’m not… That’s not me. I am John Smith, doctor of archaeology. I work at the British Museum, in Egyptology. And at _The Bookshop_. And I love Rose Tyler. I’m not that man!” 

The puppeteer jerked at her strings now, pulling her up to her full height. “Yes, you are. Doctor. Please. Help me.”

He reached out for the watch, and as soon as he touched the hot silver, the puppeteer released her and she slumped, her body fully relaxed. Ian caught and supported her. The watch fell to the ground in the process, and although it didn’t open, it didn’t stop glowing.

“What is this?” John cried, his voice rising in abject horror.

“It’s the essence of a Time Lord,” Ian said calmly, letting go of Rose. “The Doctor put it in that watch for safe-keeping, so he could return eventually. When it became necessary.”

“Why?” John asked, still staring at the watch on the sandstone tiles.

“I don’t know. To protect himself?” Sarah Jane offered. 

He looked from her to Ian. “What happens if I open it?”

“I suppose that his essence will reclaim his body.”

“But I’m human!” John cried. “Tell them, Rose! You know I am perfectly human!”

“You are,” she whispered helplessly.

“How many hearts?” Sarah Jane asked.

“What?”

“Time Lords have two hearts,” Ian said. 

“I’ve only got one!” John said, his hand going to his chest. “There’s only one. Feel it!” He reached for Rose, and she flattened her hand over his rapidly thumping heart. She hated herself when she touched the right half of his chest too, but all she felt there was a faint echo and the rise and fall of his ribs.

“One heart.”

Ian and Sarah Jane looked at each other. “But—” Sarah Jane began.

“He must have changed. Made himself human. He’s masked himself very well from whatever it is he’s hiding from,” Ian concluded.

“And the watch can’t be wrong, can it?”

“Surely, there’s no harm in opening the watch. If you’re the Doctor you’ll absorb your essence. If you’re not him, nothing will happen,” Ian said.

“Makes sense,” Rose said, turning away from him. She felt like a traitor, but that was just the topmost layer of many complicated feelings. Feelings she needed to analyse later, when this threat was over. “Why would the watch open now. Why to me?”

She picked it up and gave it to John. He had slumped onto a chair, shaking with fear. She took his hand and placed the watch inside. “Go on, open it.”

“Think of the Earth, all these brilliant people,” Ian reminded him. Rose was furious. How could he place such a burden on his shoulders when he’d not even coped with the loss of his family yet?

“Think of all the children,” Sarah Jane said.

Rose hated her then. She must have known that John would do anything for children. Anything.

“Rose?” he asked, looking at her. “I must do it.” He looked heartbroken.

“I love you,” she blurted. It was the most intense of all the feelings that she could muster. “I love you.”

He relaxed, smiling sadly. “I love you too.”

“Is it all right? One last kiss?” Rose asked Sarah Jane and Ian.

Sarah Jane took Ian’s arm and pulled him out of the kitchen, saying something about privacy in their last moments. It was funny how none of them doubted the veracity of the watch and its owner.

John stood and enveloped her in his arms, the watch pressing against her shoulder blade where he had closed his fingers around it. He kissed her deeply, slowly, knowing full well that this was their last kiss. Rose moulded herself against him, wanted to feel as much of him against her as possible. She deserved it, she felt, for losing the man she loved.

“I love you, Rose,” John whispered. Tears were streaming down his face. “I’m so scared. All these monsters from my dreams, they’re real. And Sarah Jane and Ian, they’ve seen them too.”

Rose trailed her fingers down his cheek. “I know, John. I know. It’s not fair.”

“No. I wanted… I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I know it’s too soon to say it, but that’s how I feel. I want you to know in case I forget all about John,” he whispered, his voice thick with tears.

Rose stared at him, unable to say anything that would match the depth of his sentiment. Instead, she nodded dumbly. “I love you, John.”

He let go of her, but she clung to his free hand. She wanted to be with him as much as possible when he opened that dreadful watch. And maybe, just maybe, it was wrong and John wasn’t really its owner.

John took a deep breath and opened the lid.


	22. Chapter 22

Once the golden tendrils of light were unleashed, there was no stopping them, no way to escape them. He cried out, releasing his grip on the watch but it didn’t slip from his palm. Rose disappeared behind a wall of golden light, and she was saying something too but he couldn’t make out what. His head was filled with a whirlwind of voices, most of which addressed him as a Time Lord and expressed urgency as well as relief that he was back.

“No!” he cried. “Please, I can’t, I can’t, I’m not ready!”

“Time Lord.”

The light was blinding as it reached for his eyes, deafening as it curled into his ears, stifling as it probed his nose, and choking as it filled his mouth. And still he opened his eyes wide and took deep breaths, gulping in every last bit of the golden tendrils.

Because they were his. They were _him_ , and once they’d touched his consciousness, he felt the phantom pain and he wanted everything back, all of it.

Finally, the watch clattered to the floor, the glass protecting the face shattering with a bright tinkle on the sandstone tiles. There was no more light. It was all inside of him, and he groaned as it reclaimed its rightful place. It felt like regenerating, when everything was new and just that tiny bit different.

Oh but this body was big inside.

It was just a pity that it wasn’t strong enough to support his Time Lord self. He’d have to get back to the TARDIS as soon as possible to rewrite his DNA.

“John?”

Rose’s voice had taken on a brighter, deeper quality as if someone had fiddled with the equaliser settings on a sound system. She smelled divine too, of that scent she was wearing, one of the samples from the beauty department, and of sweat and subdued arousal.

“Rose,” he said.

“John, are you all right? Is it still you?” She reached out and he took her hand and guided it to his chest. His heart, John’s heart, was doing its best to keep up with the additional work it had to cope with. Rose’s eyes were large and filled with concern.

“Right as rain, me,” he smirked.

Her face fell, and if he hadn’t been holding on to her hand, she’d have dropped it.

“You’re not John,” she whispered. She raised her left hand to feel for the second heart that wasn’t there yet. “But you are—”

“Incomplete,” he said gently. “Hello. I’m the Doctor.”

Rose stepped away, and he felt the loss of her warmth acutely. “What happened to John?” All of a sudden, she seemed so much younger than she was, but he saw that she was also a lot stronger than he’d thought.

“He’s still here,” he said. “He’s part of me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My entire consciousness wasn't stored in that watch, part of me was still here in this body” he explained. “Which is why I know exactly what John knows. And feels.”

“Oh,” she said, taking another step backwards.

“Rose, it’s still me. Just with a little Time Lord added,” he said.

She guffawed. “I liked the bit I’ve had so far, thanks.”

He’d completely forgotten about Sarah and Ian. They were standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His single heart swelled. It was so good to see them again. He strode past Rose to hug each of them. He needed to feel alive, to celebrate, but asking that of Rose would be too much right now, he knew that.

“Sarah Jane!” he cried, his joy crinkling the corners of his eyes. She returned the gesture with a strength that belied her petite build. Maybe it was just a combination of that and his new body. It was relatively new, after all, and he’d had no time to get to know it properly as his Time Lord body. As for his human body— that was an entirely different story.

“Doctor,” she replied, his name part statement, part question.

“And Ian!” he laughed, hugging the man too, clapping Ian, who winced, on the shoulder a mite too heartily.

“Doctor. It’s good to see you again,” he smiled.

“How’s Barbara?” the Doctor asked.

“She’s fine, busy. Which is why she isn’t here with me,” he said.

“Ah, give her my love, will you?”

“Doctor, I don’t mean to rush things or anything, but we really need to get going,” Sarah reminded him. “The Nestene Consciousness.”

“Autons!” he cried. “Yes! How do you know about them?”

“K9 and Mr Smith helped me,” she replied.

“Mr Smith?”

“A Xylok. He helps me with all things alien. It’s a long story.”

“Fantastic. I’d love to hear it. Now, the Nestene Consciousness would need a large transmitter to control the shop window dummies. Large but invisible in a city like London,” he said.

“Well, what about the Millennium Wheel?” Rose asked softly. “It looks like an antenna, and it’s big.”

“And it’s invisible because it’s hidden in plain sight!” Ian concluded.

The Doctor reached for Rose’s hand and pulled her out of the flat behind him, hurrying down the stairs so fast that Sarah and Ian couldn’t keep up with them.

“Shouldn’t we wait for them?” Rose asked as he pulled the front door open.

“Of course, yes,” he grinned. “You are fantastic, Rose Tyler.”

She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. It had come loose and he’d found it rather attractive. He reached behind her ear and freed it once more. “I like it that way,” he said.

Rose’s gaze darkened, but she didn’t say anything. He didn’t have time to wonder why she reacted so oddly; Sarah and Ian arrived. “I’ve got the car outside,” Sarah said. “I’ll drive.”

They rushed to her silver VW estate and got in; he had a little trouble arranging his long legs on the rear bench until Ian scooted his seat forward a little. The Doctor reached across the divide for Rose’s hand, and to his surprise she let him take it. “I’ll explain everything later, yeah?”

“You still sound like a Northerner,” she said.

He frowned. “Lots of planets have a north.”

That made her laugh, and although he had no idea what was so funny about it, he smiled. Rose had cheered up a little, and that was what mattered.

“You don’t sound anything like John.”

He looked at Ian’s headrest in front of him. “And that’s bad?”

“I fell in love with John,” Rose pointed out.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t planned to fall in love.” He gave her hand a squeeze.

“If that’s meant to be comforting you don’t really have what I’d call a great bedside manner,” Rose said. It would have been funny if she didn’t sound so dejected.

“I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“No, I’d noticed that.”

They spent the rest of the journey in silence. He needed to come up with a plan. He didn’t have his sonic. He didn’t have anything, really. He could always invoke the Shadow Proclamation, but he wasn’t sure if that worked with the Nestene Consciousness. They weren’t easily deterred from a plan. And who could blame them? They were, after all, refugees from the Time War. Just like him. Only he wasn't trying to take over an alien world for his own good. He’d killed the Daleks and his own people to ensure that others could live.

He only realised that Rose’s hand was still resting in his when he had to let go of it to get out of the car. At this time of night, the Wheel was brightly illuminated, and he supposed that nobody would notice if it shone just a little bit more brightly when the radio signal came on. 

The Nestene Consciousness was hiding in a cavernous space right underneath the Wheel. Luckily, most tourists had gone. The Wheel had closed down for the day, and there were only a few people about, most of them lovers or photographers, who were focused on the view or each other. Consequently, they were oblivious to everything going on around them and didn’t pay attention to them when they descended into the bowels of the city.

None of his three companions stayed behind, not even Rose. He knew that he was being tested, and he was glad that he had none of his usual tricks up his sleeve. Not that there were any sleeves to hide anything in; he’d discarded the dinner jacket, loosened his bow tie and rolled up his sleeves at the flat.

“I demand parlay as condoned by the Shadow Proclamation,” he roared when he stepped towards the huge vat of what looked like gelatinous magma that was sitting below them. They were on a steel catwalk suspended above it, and he knew that the humans with him were aware of how little it would take the entity below to kill them.

Now that he had his Time Lord consciousness back, the TARDIS stepped in as a translator. “What do you want?” the gelatinous mass asked.

“There is no need to take over this planet. There are better places I can take you. No one would be harmed.”

“We like it here,” the Nestene Consciousness purred; if gelatinous mass could purr, that was.

“You’d kill billions.”

“Primitive life forms.”

“Oi!” Rose squeaked.

“Humans might appear a little… childish right now,” the Doctor conceded with a calming gesture. “But they will rise to greatness. Eventually. Give them that chance, just like I am giving you the chance to lead a life in peace and prosperity.”

“Why should we trust you, Time Lord?”

He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Because I am a Time Lord. I’m here to help.”

The Nestene Consciousness bubbled and gurgled and he couldn’t help thinking of a huge pot of tomato sauce he’d once stirred for an Italian mamma. That had been in Pompeii, modern Pompeii, while he and Giuseppe Fiorelli were waiting for the plaster casts of the hollows the dead had left behind to set.

“You’re not a Time Lord.”

“I know I don't seem like one. Physiologically. It's a long story. I took on human form to hide. But I am. A Time Lord.” He tickled the edge of its consciousness with his. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant sensation, but he needed them to believe him.

“Where is this planet?”

“Not far from here. Quite pleasant. Shhuparhurdi IV/*5C. No Humans. No anyone. You’re going to like it,” he said cheerfully.

A few bubbles exploded on the surface of the Nestene Consciousness, and all four of them took a step back, just in case.

“You are afraid,” the alien entity said.

“Well, yes. Won’t do to… pollute you, now will it?” he asked. He cast sharp glances at Rose, Sarah and Ian. Ian had pushed himself between the railing of the catwalk and the women, displaying the gentleman that he was. He smiled, turning back to the Nestene Consciousness.

“But the preparations,” the alien considered.

“Oh, I’ll take care of that. The children certainly enjoyed their toys coming alive for a short while.”

“Children?”

“Yes. The human young.”

“How many of them are there?” the alien asked.

He stopped himself from crossing his arms in front of him. He didn’t want to appear either smug or defensive, no matter how defensive he felt when children’s lives were at stake or how happy he was to have found the Nestene Consciousness’ soft spot.

Anyway.

“Around two and a half billion,” he said.

“That’s a third.”

“Yes, it is. More than that, even. Give me a moment, will you?” he said, his mouth widening into a winning smile at his request.

Sarah drove him to 76, Totter’s Lane, where the TARDIS was waiting for him, forever faithful and more or less forgiving. He supposed that she was glad for the break, and he was looking forward to doing something for her well-being after his two-year holiday from being a Time Lord. To his surprise, she wasn’t half miffed for being deserted for as long as she had been, but Sarah Jane’s presence seemed to remind her of her manners.

“She remembers me,” Sarah said, stroking one of the TARDIS' coral struts. He remembered then that back in Sarah Jane’s day, his ship had sported the white round porthole-y things.

“Of course she does,” he said softly, busying himself at the controls. “You might want to take a seat, it’s been a while, for both of us.”

“One would think that two years is nothing to either of you,” Sarah said, sitting on the jump seat.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said, remembering Ian and Rose, who had stayed behind on the Lambeth South Bank. He hoped that the Nestene Consciousness didn’t get any funny ideas. Strictly speaking, the Shadow Proclamation had made the taking of hostages illegal, so they shouldn’t be in any danger, but he wanted to be absolutely sure. The things he’d seen in the War had taught him one or two things about rules and regulations.

The TARDIS lit up, thrummed in greeting and was generally more welcoming than she usually was after a longish period without travelling, but he supposed that she was on her best behaviour because Sarah was there. His ship wheezed out of the here and now and went briefly into the anytime and anywhere before materialising in the there and now. On the monitor he could see that Ian and Rose hadn’t even made themselves comfortable on the wall of the embankment.

“That wasn’t too rocky, now, was it?” he said gleefully.

“No,” Sarah said, smiling. “Just like the old times.”

He took her hand and they burst through the door and into the slightly chilly March night.

A few minutes later, the Nestene Consciousness was settled, vat and all, on the pleasant shores of one of Shhuparhurdi IV/*5C’s oceans. On their trip back to London, he looked at Rose a few times. It was her first trip in the TARDIS, but she seemed to be taking it in stride. Surely, Ian had prepared her for the trip of a lifetime. He hoped it wouldn't be just one trip. But that was not his decision, and he didn’t look into his own future as a rule. It was Rose’s choice alone, particularly after what he’d done to her.

He dropped Ian and Sarah off at the Wheel, promising to visit them before he left — his last domestic chore before he left. No, one of his last domestic chores. He owed the Harcourts an explanation, and Rose an explanation and a choice.

He parked the TARDIS in John’s part of the garden at the former school. Rose was surprised when she opened the door and stepped outside into the clear night air.

“We’re at yours,” she said. “John’s.”

“Yes, we are.”

She looked at him.

“So. You’re a Time Lord.”

“Strictly speaking,” he said, pulling the door to the TARDIS shut behind him, “I’m a Time Lord trapped in a human body.”

“So that means that you look different?”

He laughed. “No. Gallifreyans look human, but we’re different on the inside.”

“Gallifreyans.”

“Time Lord is a Gallifreyan title,” he explained.

“But you’re the last one. I heard. The watch said so,” she said. “So Mickey and Jimmy were right.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I don’t like the idea of people speculating about me on the Internet.”

She laughed. “I suppose no one likes that.”

“So.”

“So that’s it. Thanks for saving the Earth. We are safe now, aren’t we?”

He leaned against the TARDIS. “Yeah, should be. I’m surprised the Nestene Consciousness was so ready to move.”

“Once I mentioned the children you were ready to open the watch,” she pointed out.

“Yes. Fantastic, Rose.”

She pursed her lips. “I suppose this is goodbye then.”

He straightened. “No! Why? You could come with me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Because I’m not human?” he asked, bristling.

“I’m not racist, thank you very much.”

“Right. Mickey. Jimmy.”

“Jimmy’s not—” She stopped herself, smirking. But then she sobered, and it was the most chilling thing he’d seen in a long time. “I can’t go with you.”

“Why not?”

She shook her head. “I just can’t. School. You.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t know who you are any more,” she said.

“I’m John.”

She shook her head. “No. You’re more than John. And I… I really need to get my life back on track. I’ve had such a good start, I can't quit now.”

“But without me,” he said. He wanted to add that she’d see and learn things that a London secondary school couldn’t even begin to provide her with, but John's voice deep inside made him understand that that wasn’t the point.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Let me help at least,” he offered, reaching out for her.

But Rose’s gaze darkened, so much so that he could even see it in the waning moonlight. “No. I need to do this by myself. This life thing.”

He smiled. “Fantastic.” He wanted to ask so many more questions. If Sarah had bullied her into this by snooping in his journal and telling her about K9 and who he really was. But it was a moot point now, so he dropped it. He knew that Sarah had meant well. The she wanted to protect Rose. He couldn’t blame her.

Rose frowned.

“I respect that,” he said, sobering. “Just don’t forget me.”

“Never,” she said. Her voice was shaking and he could tell that she was barely hanging on.

“One last trip? Let me at least take you home, eh?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Normally, he didn’t offer taxi service, but this was different. For a moment he debated telling her about the wonders of his ship. That it could also travel in time, but she was so determined that he didn’t have it in him. Rassilon knew he had shaken up many a life without so much as stopping to ask — but he hadn’t met with any resistance either — that he felt he owed it to her to respect her wishes.

“What about _The Bookshop_?” she asked, sitting on the jump seat.

“I’ll stay for as long as Jamie needs me to. You can come to one of the readings if you like,” he said, suddenly understanding who else was going to suffer from his decision to hide.

“What about Phineas, and Becca, and their child?” she asked.

“I’ll explain,” he said, twisting the green bubble sphere. The Time Rotor tamped down with a wheezing sound. 

“Why did you do it? Hide here?” she asked.

He didn’t reply until he'd yanked up the brake.

“Here we are. The Powell Estate, 19 March 2005, six pm. A little early, but I suppose that’s all right, giving you a handful of hours extra?” he said.

“It travels in time?”

He shrugged. Suddenly, it didn’t sound so impressive. What was a handful of hours compared to all the rest of it?

“Thank you. Doctor. For everything,” she said softly. She stood and closed the distance between them. But instead of the hug he’d expected, she reached up and kissed his cheek. Then she was gone and the door creaked shut behind her.


	23. Chapter 23

He returned to the school to wait for Sarah and Ian in numbed silence. He shouldn’t really be surprised that Rose didn't want to come with him; he’d seen it in her eyes. She’d wanted to, but for once she had decided to put herself first.

When he’d turned himself into the human John Smith he’d not even considered that he might fall in love, which was why he had told the TARDIS to come up with a backstory for him that would, or at least should have, prevent it. If he’d learned anything from this, it was that that love was still possible even after so much loss. But then again, John hadn’t murdered his own people. John’s life was much less complicated, and he’d relished it, but if it hadn’t been for Sarah and Ian, his selfish need to hide would have led to the destruction of his most favourite planet. He couldn’t allow that to happen again. Hence, no one to distract him from his self-imposed penance.

Rose had been right to turn him down. She loved John, and although John was still there, deep inside him, she’d get so much more than a grief-stricken, amnesiac widower and orphaned father. She’d get a nine-hundred year-old alien with the power over time at his fingertips, the Last of his kind, the Oncoming Storm. She wouldn’t love that part of him.

He was glad that she wasn’t here to witness the last leg of John Smith’s journey. He felt horrible enough for asking Sarah and Ian to accompany him, but it was dangerous and he needed someone there to watch out for him. Becoming John Smith had been dangerous enough, and he’d been extremely lucky that he’d not regenerated or killed himself in the process.

The door bell rang and he buzzed Sarah and Ian up. They stared at the TARDIS where it sat parked in the high-ceilinged lounge that somehow managed to dwarf the magnificent time ship.

“You still haven’t fixed the chameleon circuit,” Ian observed as he stepped out of the shadow of the gallery. He smoothed his palm almost reverently against the wood. “She’s changed a little though, since the olden days.”

“She’s aged, just like me,” the Doctor said.

“You look younger. I like that kind of ageing.”

“You don’t have to age,” the Doctor pointed out, but that was, of course, impossible. People would start asking questions about people in their community who never aged. 

“Where’s Rose?” Ian asked, turning back to him and Sarah.

“She didn’t come, did she?” Sarah said.

The Doctor pressed his lips into a pale, thin line.

“The poor girl.”

“Yeah, well. I tried to explain,” the Doctor said helplessly. “But it’s not the right time for her.”

“You’re going to ask her again, aren’t you? To travel with you?” Ian asked, dropping his hand from the wood.

The Doctor folded his arms in front of his chest. He had played with the idea, but dismissed it. There were many good reasons why Rose didn’t want to travel with him; bad timing for her was just the gentlest way of saying it. He had betrayed her trust, and that was unforgivable, and there was nothing that he could do to redeem himself but respect her wishes. In time, he’d be able to let go of her and move on.

“Doctor!” Ian protested.

“I don’t do domestic,” the Doctor growled, unfolding his arms.

“You travelled with your granddaughter for quite some time,” Ian reminded him.

“That’s… family.”

“Even worse in some people’s book than travelling with the woman you love. And believe me, Doctor, travelling with you was never domestic,” Sarah said.

“I can’t lose her, all right? And I will, if she comes with me. I can’t keep her safe, not any more,” he blurted. The Time War was over, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t other dangers lurking out there. Like irate species who’d lost their homes, or their children or livelihood because of the bloody war. He was sure that the Nestene Consciousness were just the first in a very long line of creditors hunting for him.

“What happened to you, Doctor?” Ian asked, his eyes widening behind his glasses.

“You don’t want to know,” he growled. 

“But why did you hide, Doctor? Because that’s what you were doing. Is there someone after you?” Sarah pressed.

She was right. They deserved an explanation. “I made a big mistake, and I thought that… hiding away for a while would heal the wounds.” He sounded like a right coward, but both Sarah and Ian knew the kinds of decision he had to make sometimes. He didn’t want to lie to them. They’d understand.

“Oh Doctor,” Sarah sighed.

“Did it work?” Ian asked.

“I can’t tell yet.”

They were quiet for a while. “What about Phineas and Becca? What are you going to tell them? And Jamie Ashcroft and Naoko?”

“Jamie knows who I am,” the Doctor said.

“Did he travel with you?”

“No. I saved his life on a night when everybody lived. Or at least that’s what he told me,” he said, grinning smugly, crossing his arms in front of his chest again. “That night has yet to happen to me. But I’m not peeking, not me.”

Sarah laughed. “So that’s something to look forward to, isn’t it? To know that you’re still able to make the right decision.” Ian nodded, smiling eagerly.

He faltered. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“So. The Harcourts,” Sarah said. “I’m not telling them who you are.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to do that,” he said gently. “I will tell them in the morning.”

“How did you change your body? Did you regenerate into a human?” Sarah asked.

“I’m guilt-ridden but not suicidal,” the Doctor scoffed, but had to admit that it would probably have been a less painful method. “I used the chameleon arch. I can program it to rewrite my DNA and body chemistry into any life form. But since my Time Lord consciousness would never fit a human mind I had to store it in the fob watch.” He went to the grand piano, where someone had put the watch earlier.

“It doesn’t fit inside a human brain but it will inside a mechanical watch?” Ian repeated, just to make sure.

The Doctor shrugged helplessly.

“Wait. Isn’t your Time Lord consciousness inside a human mind right now?” Sarah asked.

“Yep,” he said, grinning, glad he didn’t have to spell out the situation for them.

“Why haven’t you changed back? It must be dangerous,” Ian said.

“It is. Which is why I want you here. If you’d do me the honour, that is,” the Doctor replied. “Of course I’ll understand if you say no.”

“What do we do?” Ian asked, shrugging out of his dinner jacket.

“Don’t call an ambulance, no matter what happens,” the Doctor said.

“Isn’t it going to hurt?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, it is,” he said, squaring his shoulders. The first time round, the pain had burnt away his other pain. Now it would only deepen it, because along with the old pain came the loss of Rose.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Rose to come round? Maybe give her a few days to mull things over,” Sarah suggested.

“There is no time for that,” he replied. He could already feel synapses snapping under the strain as too many thoughts demanded to be processed trying to return him to his Time Lord status. Concentrating on the here and now, on the information he absorbed and how he processed the individual pieces, was getting increasingly difficult. If he waited any longer, it would be hard to form a coherent sentence in his mind, let alone articulate it.

On top of everything else, he had to add John’s memories to his own, connect them to other relevant experiences. Which would have been tricky enough under normal circumstances, but because he loved Rose, there were so many beautiful memories he had to store away. He wanted to keep them under a glass dome so he could examine them like the rare and priceless treasures they were when the time was right. In a few decades, probably, if not centuries. He was running again, but this time, there was no sanctuary.

“So, what do we do, apart from not calling the ambulance?” Ian repeated.

“You stay out here. Make tea, lots of strong tea. That’ll help me heal,” he replied.

“Seriously, Doctor,” Sarah said.

“You’ve been there, haven’t you?” He remembered her holding his hand and telling her not to be afraid. The truth was, however, that he was afraid of regenerating every single time, and he’d loved having her hand in his. Then had come the fuzziness, followed by darkness. It had been similar the last time too, only he’d been alone then.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’ll probably be disoriented for a while. Just give me the tea and stay with me,” he said. He knew he was asking them to do something really hard, but they seemed to be determined to help. And it was good to know that he wouldn't be alone this time. It had been a huge risk the first time, and he’d had more luck than brains when Phin and Becca had found him two years ago.

“We can do that, can’t we, Sarah Jane?” Ian said, smiling through his concern.

She nodded, brave as ever. 

He grinned. “All right then. See you in a bit. Don’t forget the tea.” The TARDIS door opened with its familiar squeak. He’d forever associate this particular sound with home, and it was John’s consciousness that realised how much he had missed it over the well-oiled doors of the past couple of years.

The TARDIS welcomed him with a gentle thrum, and he patted the coral on the nearest strut. At the controls, he quickly opened the panel that hid the rarely used switches, most of which were also quite dangerous, and flipped the one that activated the Chameleon Arch.

The TARDIS reluctantly lowered the helmet-like device. She’d always hated it because of the pain it inflicted, but it was the only way of getting her Time Lord back.

He looked at the fob watch with the elaborate Gallifreyan pattern on its lid. When he brushed his thumb over it, he understood how the TARDIS had protected him, and he whispered his thanks to her, momentarily too overcome with emotion. John couldn’t believe that he was just a fiction, a character made up from personality traits that had made up a nine-hundred year-old alien. The irony of being turned into an archaeologist and a bookseller didn’t elude him: the presentable, surviving bits of a man that sold people his story.

With a little pressure, the fob watch clicked into its slot in the Chameleon Arch. Then he stepped beneath the device and placed it on his head with more care than he would put on a hat. The fabric-lined pads clamped down on his temples of their own accord, ensuring a snug fit to prevent accidents. He didn’t dwell on those; the Chameleon Arch was terrifying enough without all the what-ifs attached. He took a deep breath. Then he closed his eyes and communicated his willingness to proceed.

The pain didn’t build. It just was. There was nothing at first, just the every-day, taken-for-granted feeling of well-being, that was replaced, quite literally, with a flick of the switch, by a state of constant pain that was all-encompassing, without any hope of relief. It just was.

He knew, intellectually, in that tiny part of his brain that retained his sanity, that every single gene in every single cell of his body was being rewritten, and that that was, naturally, painful as his body and its chemistry adapted to the new organism. Old synapses were over wrought by the messages of the new, unable to cope, while the mitochondria were rewritten to cope with entirely different, more efficient, ways of generating energy. And since every cell in his body needed changing, it was going to take a while.

Eventually, his brain shut down as neurons fired haphazardly, and he felt like he was floating in a tank of warm fluid, bubbles tickling his sensitive skin, a man’s screams sounding distant and surreal as he drifted, weightless and limp.

The sensation left suddenly, feeling as though the tub had drained away around him, leaving him on a hard surface that was pressing into his skin, joints and bones, setting his body on fire in an entirely different way. This pain, he knew, was going to be far more persistent than its predecessor, and for a few moments he wished for it back.

Something wet coated his lips, and he gasped for it, managing to touch his tongue to it. He recognised the taste, a tangy bitterness mellowed by quite a lot of sugar and a dash of milk. _Tea._

Which was good.

He licked his lips again.

There was more, and some of it escaped the corner of his mouth, a sensation that went straight to his groin as it replaced the residual pain. 

_More. Please._

Something soft but painful pressed down on his sensitive skin and he jerked away from it.

_Leave me._

And leave him it did.

-:-

He surfaced with a gasp, his torso jerking him into a sitting position. The sound of rustling fabric was crisp and loud against his ear drums as some material grazed his skin. The cool air felt like a balm.

“Doctor?”

Although only a whisper, his name rang in his ears as if he were standing right beneath a tolling bell.

“Yeah,” he moaned, his vocal cords new and untuned. Had he barked his response? Had it been audible at all? He had no idea.

A sigh. Not his. “Thank Goodness you’re alive.” A female voice.

_Sarah. Jane._

“Sarah,” he whispered.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“What happened?”

“The Chameleon Arch. It turned you back into a Time Lord.”

“Try a kiss next time, eh?” A male voice.

_Ian._

“At least the frog prince never complained about the princess kissing him.”

He chuckled, the sound shaking his ribcage.

_Oh._

_Two hearts._

_Again._

_Fantastic._

His eyes flickered open. They were encrusted, but they worked perfectly. Sarah and Ian were there with him, their younger selves aged but clearly recognisable in the lines of their skin and their irises.

“Could’ve told me earlier,” he managed.

“Tea?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah,” he said, taking the cup from her. His hands were shaky, so he reached out with both. He hated that, but he knew that his helplessness wouldn’t last long.

“Rose?”

“She’s not here, Doctor,” Ian said.

He remembered. “Course she isn’t,” he agreed, his vocal cords learning their job.

“How are you feeling, Doctor?” Sarah asked.

“Can you… can you leave me alone for a bit?” he asked, looking at her dark, worried eyes.

“Of course, take your time. We’ll be in the lounge,” she said.

He was only just beginning to become aware of his surroundings. He was in John’s bed, stripped down to his underwear. They must have dragged him out of the TARDIS and in here somehow. That was the last thing he’d wanted, but he remembered telling them not to call an ambulance; nothing about making him comfortable. Apart from the tea, which was in the mug slowly cooling on his bedside table. He reached for the mug. It felt surprisingly heavy in his hands.

He had been out cold for three hours, seventeen minutes and forty-six seconds. His body was still sore and he knew that he’d need a good night’s sleep for his brain to incorporate the last two years’ worth of memories. But before that, he ought to take care of Sarah and Ian. It occurred to him that they’d waited for him all this time without knowing what to expect.

Draining his tea, which he could feel soothing his synapses, he carefully stood and padded to the lounge in his underwear. He’d have to raid the wardrobe for a new outfit. He quite liked the heaviness of the leather coat, but it would have to be a different one. He was not going to put on the Old Man’s clothes. It was enough that he was invested with his responsibility.

“You haven’t changed,” Ian said.

The Doctor looked himself down. Ian laughed. “No, I mean, you still look like John.”

“I only changed my biology,” he explained patiently.

“Sarah said something about you becoming a different man. Different body, different face,” Ian clarified.

“Oh, that. No, as I said, just different biology. No need to regenerate,” he said. _Again._

“What if something had happened to… John? He could have been killed, right? What about you then?” Sarah said, standing from where she’d been sitting on the sofa.

He gaped at her. He hadn’t thought of that possibility. Not at any length anyway. At the time he’d just accepted it. “I’m not suicidal, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then why did you turn yourself into a human?” Sarah asked. “You said something about hiding, down in that awful cave.”

“I was hiding. From my worst enemy.”

They stared at him.

“Me,” he said, holding up a placating hand. “I was hiding from myself.”

“What have you done?” Sarah asked.

 _I was being a coward. And have upset quite a few people with my selfishness. This ends now._ “I… I had to do something terrible.” He put all the intensity, his unwillingness to discuss it and his plea for her to let it drop for now into his eyes.

Sarah Jane opened her mouth in protest, but closed it, respecting his wishes. “What now?”

He took a deep breath. “I’ll have to tell Phin and Becca.”

“It’s three in the morning,” Ian pointed out.

“You should get some rest,” he said.

“Can I… is my old room still there?” Ian asked.

The Doctor grinned.


	24. Chapter 24

When he woke from a shockingly long and relaxing night’s sleep and padded into the kitchen in search of some food, he was welcomed by the smell of coffee and fresh toast. He remembered filling the fridge with sausages and ham, and the fruit bowl on the counter was nearly as impressive as the cornucopia he had seen in _Fortnum & Mason’s_ window display a few weeks earlier. He had bought the fruit at the market specifically for Rose and Becca.

Rose, he realised, wasn’t going to share breakfast with him ever again. And Becca was just about to arrive.

“Morning, Doctor,” Ian said, looking up from the newspaper and reaching for his mug. “How are you feeling?”

He nodded curtly. “Did you find everything you need in the TARDIS?”

“Yes, thanks. The new desktop was a bit confusing at first, but she was very helpful,” he said.

“I hope it’s all right that we helped ourselves to breakfast out here,” Sarah said. “The milk doesn’t keep long even in the TARDIS.”

“Oh, no, absolutely. Listen, I’ll just make myself presentable. Phin and Becca will be here soon,” he said. The words felt odd in his mouth; their shape and texture not quite right. The request to look after Phineas and Becca even got stuck in his throat. That was definitely a very John thing to say, and for some reason he was reluctant to acknowledge the effect the other man’s consciousness had on his own thoughts. _Suppose that’s what two years’ worth of hiding in the fob watch will do for you._ He fled to the bathroom to regroup.

Phin’s hopeful expression, paired with Becca’s disbelief, was colder than the shower he had just taken. His hair still damp, he stepped into the kitchen where Sarah and Ian were entertaining John’s best friends. The table was still set for five, and there was no sign that his two former companions were going to leave anytime soon. They, too, deserved answers, and if he was honest, he wanted to know how Sarah and Ian had found each other, and him.

“John?” Phin asked, taking a step towards him, unsure whether to extend his hand for him to shake or to hug him briefly. 

John urged him to do the latter, no matter how reluctant he was. “It’s Doctor,” he replied.

“Doctor…?”

“Just the Doctor.”

Phin looked at him searchingly. “You don’t look alien.”

“Believe me, I am,” he said.

“Are you some sort of shape shifter? Or did you put on John’s skin?” Becca said. She’d been keeping her distance, as usual, waiting to see how the scene played out.

“No, to both. I only change my entire body when I’m dying.”

Becca stared at him for a few beats, unused to such blunt words carried by his voice. “What happened to our John?”

The use of the determiner should have rubbed him the wrong way, but it didn’t. John was stopping him. He made him mellow his tone. “He’s still in here,” he said, touching his temple with one, and his chest with the other hand.

“But how is that possible?”

Sarah handed everyone a fresh cup of coffee or tea and they sat down together at the table. This was going to be a long morning, because John wasn’t about to let him just take off. These people were his best friends. They had taken care of him for the past two years, and been satisfied with his story about amnesia whenever they ventured into his past.

“I have a device in my TARDIS that can rewrite my biology into any living organism I choose,” he began, wrapping his fingers around his mug of tea. He wished Rose were there so he could explain to her as well. She'd know what questions to ask. He'd judiciously skip over the tricky ones, that would prove how she looked beyond the obvious.

_Now you’re being an ungrateful bastard._

John.

He scrubbed his hand over his face.

“Just like Madam Mim,” Becca said. She’d found a battered copy of _The Sword in the Stone_ at a car boot sale just before Christmas and they’d all sat down together and watched it. He suspected that they’d hoped it would trigger a memory, but it hadn’t. 

“Assuming that magic is a form of advanced applied science, yeah,” he said, grinning. Becca was almost as good at this as Rose. Almost.

“Why did you do it, hmm?” Phin asked, planting his elbows on the table and leaning on them.

“I needed to hide,” he said.

“From whom?”

“Myself.”

Phin frowned but relaxed.

“What did you do?” Becca asked. “Has it got anything to do with Nell and the children?”

Shaking his head, he sighed. “I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. The… pain and the shame were just too raw.”

“Did you kill someone?” Phin asked, reaching for Becca’s hand.

Sarah clapped her hand over her mouth as she understood his silence. Ian shifted his weight in his seat. They knew who he was, what he was capable of, but he doubted that even they could conceive the scale of his crime.

“My God,” Becca gasped, the apples in her cheeks wilting.

“I’m not a—” he said despite himself. “It was necessary. To avoid even worse things.”

Sarah lowered her gaze to her hands. “Sounds like you,” she said softly. He’d forgotten about the potency of her words; they seemed enough to placate Phin and Becca. It was better than nothing, at least for now.

“And why did you come to us? What were you expecting from us?” Phin asked, turning his disbelief into something fiercer.

“Sanctuary. Peace of mind, for a short while at least.”

Phin snorted. “Well, I hope you got that. Did you enjoy it? Playing with us?”

It was his turn to be lost for words, and that didn’t happen often. “I wasn’t playing. I _was_ John Smith. And I was grateful, every single day, for your generosity.”

Becca looped her arm around Phin’s elbow. “Your grief. Was it real?”

He swallowed, the air suddenly trapped in his lungs. “Yeah,” he said flatly.

“Who did you lose?”

“My home. My people. I’m the Last of the Time Lords.” The words were beginning to flow more easily now.

“What?” Sarah went just as white as Becca. “But… Gallifrey?”

“What about Susan?” Ian asked, sitting up.

“I lost her,” the Doctor said.

“Lost her?” Ian repeated.

“I don’t know where she is. I left her on 22nd century Earth but… I haven’t checked on her in a while,” he admitted.

“Who’s Susan?” Becca asked.

“My granddaughter.”

“But—”

He cut Becca off. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, aren’t you going to go looking for her?” Phin asked, almost certainly appalled at his gross neglect, and probably reconsidering his decision to ask someone like him to be his child’s godfather.

“I will, when the time is right,” he said. It was a poor excuse, but he was sure that the TARDIS would take him to Susan if she really needed him. Knowing her, she’d still be angry at him for leaving her behind. 

“You haven’t changed one bit,” Ian said, finishing his coffee. “You’ve always liked making decisions for others.”

He managed a self-conscious smile. “Guilty as charged.”

John again.

“How did you meet anyway?” Sarah asked, standing to get more coffee.

“I found him at the stage door of the NT late one night,” Becca said. “I thought he was just sleeping rough, but then I saw the state he was in. I wanted to call an ambulance, but he persuaded me to call a taxi instead, telling me that a good night’s sleep and lots of tea was all he really needed. And here we are.”

Sarah’s thoughts weren’t hard to guess as they flickered across her face, almost as if it were a television screen. What Becca had done for him, a complete stranger, was unusual enough. She hadn’t been in any danger, but there was no way for her to have known that. He might have been bait for some horrid crime. She'd definitely taken a huge risk listening to him, not to mention and taking him home to care for him. The Doctor knew that Phin, as any man would, hadn’t liked the idea of a perfect stranger in their home at first. The Doctor still didn't know what had swayed him in the end.

What he knew, however, was that he’d always be grateful for what they’d done for him. Which was why he felt horrible for his betrayal.

“How did you know that John wasn’t a mass murderer?” Sarah asked.

The Doctor cringed inwardly. He was worse than a mass murderer, and for a few beats he wondered if Sarah had sussed him out.

“I just did,” Becca said.

“She knows people,” Phin explained. “I’m a little useless in that department, but I’ve learned to trust her.”

“You took her in based on that plea?” Ian asked, not a little incredulous. This,from a man who’d not thrown a major tantrum when they'd first met. The Doctor frowned at him but Ian stood his ground.

“Yes,” Becca said. “He wasn’t homeless, wounded or covered in blood. In fact, he looked like he might have been one of the more sophisticated members of the audience.”

He snorted at that. Of course he was a _more sophisticated member of the audience._ But he knew what she meant. He’d looked smart, in a three-piece suit and tie that didn’t seem to damaged at all. He must have looked like a _more sophisticated member of the audience_ who’d collapsed just outside the stage door.

“I’d just changed my biology,” he said. “I was weak and barely aware of who I was, apart from the fact that I didn’t belong in hospital.”

“Did the TARDIS provide you with a whole new identity?” Ian asked, leaning forwards on his elbows in fascination.

“Yeah,” the Doctor said. “I just had no recollection of it yet. The neural pathways had yet to form and consolidate themselves. My personality was warring with John’s.”

“And John won,” Sarah pointed out.

“That was the plan,” the Doctor said.

Sarah and Ian exchanged knowing glances. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for their question. “Why did you do it?”

“It was the Daleks,” he began, launching into a narrative of the major events of the time war, dotted with explanations for the Harcourts’ benefit. It was surprisingly easy, not to mention liberating, to talk about what he’d done, the aborted regeneration, his near-death experience and the second chance he'd got. Underlying it all was a glimmer of hope. Where it came from was a mystery to him. How could there be hope for him now that he’d committed the ultimate crime of genocide? Now that he’d done the very thing he’d despised in all of his enemies?

As he spoke he had the feeling that he was missing something major, but he didn't know what, apart from the fact that it was nourished by the hope that laced his entire narrative.

Ending with a deep breath, he decided not to question the source. He looked up and saw tears streaming down Becca’s face and incredulity and compassion writ on Sarah’s and Ian’s faces.

“That is an impossible decision,” Ian finally said.

“No one should have to make it,” Sarah added. “Ever. Not even a Time Lord.”

“No wonder you did what you did,” Phin said, shaking his head.

Becca did the most of amazing thing then. She stood and went to him to envelop him in one of her hugs. She gave them freely, but that didn’t mean that they were random and didn’t carry any significance. They were a sign of her compassion, and although he stiffened at her proximity at first, he was grateful for the hug and even returned it. It was more than he deserved.

“I was… I _am_ a coward.”

“Because you ran when it got too much, when you needed a break after you’d saved the universe?” Ian asked kindly.

“I killed my own people,” he said, dropping his head as he forced the words out.

“Yes, you did,” Becca said.

His head snapped up. How could she say something like that? Dismiss genocide so easily?

She shook her head. “I cannot imagine the loneliness. The burden. John saved you, didn’t he?”

He found himself nodding. “Not… being there seemed like the least I could do. Death is too merciful a punishment for me.”

“So you allowed yourself to be tortured by dreams of the death of a family,” Ian concluded. There was compassion in his voice, and a trace of pity, but what was more, Ian really understood him. He wasn’t sure any more what he’d been looking for with his tale. It might have been this, or something else altogether. More punishment, outrage, rage. Horror. Not this. Certainly not this.

“So… Nell and the children never existed?” Becca asked, her eyes swimming in tears. From the way she set her mouth john knew that she was doing her best to contain herself. Anger at his betrayal made her chin tremble.

He ducked his head. Whatever she unleashed on him would be well-deserved. Only…

“They didn’t exist as such. But my family died in that war. And if they weren’t killed by the Daleks, they were killed by my decision. A tiny press of a red button.”

“Who are those Daleks?” Phin asked, as always working his way through the truth chronologically, rather than by importance. The Doctor suppressed a smile. Although he had explained, briefly, what they were, it often beggared belief in those who hadn’t seen them.

He opened his journal to the page to which he had committed them. There they were, in their buboed shiny pepper pot armour with their sucker and eye stalk and whisk-of-death arm. “They’re perfect soldiers. Without feelings of any kind, driven by the aim to exterminate all life.”

Becca pursed her lips. “Seems to be a pretty universal concept, just in yet another shape.”

“It doesn’t make it any less horrifying, though. To the contrary,” Sarah said. “They’re worse. Having no feelings means that they have no compassion. No understanding of mercy. Can you imagine an opponent whose eyes you cannot meet?”

-:-

While Phin had seemed quite willing to forgive him, Becca was less conciliatory. “I think it's the idea that you lost your wife and children. It has haunted her, especially that you couldn't even remember the circumstances of their deaths. Now it turns out they never existed so you couldn’t possibly have that memory. Or those feelings,” Phin explained when they met a few days later.

“They did exist,” he protested, wondering if he sounded as petulant to his friend as he did to his own ears. “And the feeling behind it was… is real.”

Phin sighed. “I know. I mean, I understand, but… it’s hard. Give her some time, yes?”

The Doctor piled the books he’d just been going through on top of each other. He’d gone back to The Bookshop, still dressed as, but not quite behaving like, John Smith. He had a promise to keep, and he wasn’t going to disappoint Jamie. It was bad enough that he had betrayed the trust of his best friends and his lover. But Jamie knew who he really was, and that made all the difference.

“So, what about Rose?” Phin asked eventually, after he’d served a customer and the shop was empty once more.

“She doesn’t want me,” he said curtly. “She needs to get her life back in order, get an education. There’s no room for me.” It was hard not to feel bitter. Part of him was glad that she’d said no to travelling with him, and part of him understood why she wouldn’t want to, was glad even. He was dangerous. His life was dangerous. And Rose needed to find herself — having access to all of Time and Space couldn't accomplish that. They might help, but in the end they’d just distract her from her goals.

“Is that her opinion or yours?”

“Hers.”

Phin frowned.

“Ask her!” he said with an impatient jerk of his head.

“But you love her.”

“Sometimes you have to let love go,” the Doctor said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Phin sighed. “Will you come and visit us? When Becca’s come round? We’ll miss you, J—Doctor. And I’d still like you to be godfather to our child.” He said it in a way that brooked no argument, so the Doctor found himself in the unique position saying yes. In fact, he was glad that Phin seemed to have accepted him for who he was. Even though he still addressed him by his human alter ego’s name.

“I’d like that.”

-:-

A few days after that conversation, Jamie returned. His mother Nancy was doing better and was able to stay in her house by herself. They sat in the tiny office long into the night, and the Doctor told him what had happened. “How did you know who I was?” he asked just before he was leaving.

“I’ll never forget your face, Doctor, not after you saved us that night,” Jamie said. “And if you must know, your eyes gave you away.”

He stared at the younger old man. “I’ll save you?”

Jamie smiled gently. “I’ve told you enough as it is, Doctor, and I’m sure that there’s some rule about interfering with one’s own time line.”

The Doctor smiled, but he was distracted by the idea that there was a time in his future when he’d save people.

Afterwards, he went to the Powell Estate. He wasn’t going to knock on Rose’s door. He just wanted to make sure that she was all right, that Jimmy wasn’t giving her a hard time. There was a loud party going on on the fourth floor, and eventually the police arrived. Rose wasn’t at the party. Circling the building, he saw that her window was a dark rectangle, like so many others were at this time of night.

Sighing, and whispering his farewell, he pushed his hands into the pockets of John’s coat and went back to the TARDIS. It was time to choose his new outfit; something to remind him of what he’d done, in the War and as John. A leather coat with deep pockets, paired with jeans and maybe a soft jumper.


	25. Chapter 25

Rose watched the TARDIS wheeze out of existence forcing herself to stand still. The solid blue of the phone box became increasingly translucent, blending into the background of graffitied metal shutters until it was gone. She remained unmoving for a while afterwards.

This couldn’t be real.

All that had happened in the past few hours just couldn’t be real. She’d wake in the morning, in her pink bed in her pink bedroom with the whole day ahead of her. This was just nerves about the ball at the British Museum. It was important to John because the future of his projects depended on it, and she wanted to support him, just like he supported her.

The evening air was cool enough to keep her alert. What she’d just experienced was true. John had changed back into a Gallifreyan Time Lord and left her behind.

That wasn’t quite true. She’d asked to stay behind, but that was just semantics. In the grand scheme of things she’d messed up again. She'd fallen for the wrong guy. History truly did repeat itself, and she seemed to be the kind of woman she normally felt sorry for, the kind who always seemed to get taken advantage of. The kind whose love was never reciprocated.

“Miss Tyler?”

A great hulk of a man in a black suit had suddenly appeared, looking at her expectantly. His shaven head gleamed in the courtyard lights, the earpiece he was wearing reflecting even more brightly. 

She’d completely forgotten. Tonight was also the night of Jimmy’s concert.

“What?” she barked.

“Mr Stone sent a car for you, Miss Tyler. For the concert,” the friendly giant said.

“I’m not going,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but he specifically asked me to make sure that you join me.”

“What’re you going to do if I refuse? Kidnap me?” she asked, crossing her arms defensively. She wondered if she had put on magic make-up that spelled ‘Prize Idiot’ on her forehead.

“Please, Miss Tyler,” he urged her.

“No, thank you. It’s been a rough day and I am in no mood for a concert.” All she wanted was to curl up in bed and cry herself to sleep; better still, vanish off the face of this Earth if that was possible without a Time Lord’s assistance.

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yes!” she hissed, and to her surprise the bodyguard took a step backward.

“What should I tell him?”

“Tell him I wish him all the best, but it’s over.” _It’s time I finally looked after myself, after looking after Jimmy and Mickey and John._ Smiling apologetically, because he was only doing his job, she turned around and walked towards the front door of her building. She walked slowly and was glad she’d put on her trainers at John’s; they were quiet enough that she could hear if anyone was following her. She couldn’t hear anything suspicious so she just kept walking. When she took the stairs up to her flat, she saw that the friendly giant had left. 

Thankfully, Mum and Howard were out. She was in no mood to deal with hearing them shagging across the hall, let alone having to explain what had happened. She ran herself a bath in which she failed to relax. Frustrated and restless and angry she poured herself some cheap wine and flipped through the channels on the telly. Reading _Miss Carline_ was out of the question because the book reminded her too much of John. She ended up watching _You’ve Got Mail_ in a sobbing heap in her armchair, where she woke hours later and dragged herself to bed with a crick in her neck.

Rose wasn’t ready to tell her mum about John when she returned from Howard’s late the next morning. He had one of his soccer matches and Mum had chosen not to go along because it was an out of town fixture, and the pile of ironing wasn't getting any smaller. What she didn’t know was that by the time she got home, Rose had already tackled most of it. The dining table was covered with neat piles of varying sizes, sorted by owner and style of shirt. Even Howard’s button-down shirts were done, each of them put neatly onto a hanger so they didn’t crease.

“What happened?” Mum asked sharply although she must have guessed.

Rose shook her head. “Not now, Mum.”

“I’ll take over now.”

“No, Mum. Please,” she said, grateful for something to do.

“That bastard! Thinks he can waltz in and break my poor daughter’s heart with a sob story about his lost family. Right little puppy dog eyes he made at you!”

“Mum, please,” Rose said, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. 

“I’ll get us some chips, and then you’ll have a proper cry and tell me what happened, eh?”

And that’s what they did. Rose finished the laundry, ate chips and cried. Her mum raged against John when she told her that he'd left for a post overseas. Which made her cry again because, despite everything, she still wanted to protect him. But after what he’d done for the world the night before, she supposed he deserved a little privacy.

To her horror, Jimmy showed up later that afternoon, after he’d slept off the worst of his hangover, to whine about her ungratefulness. Mum chucked him out, daring him to come near them again.

From then on, she’d spot Jimmy down in the court now and again, but he never approached her. She made it a point to have Mickey with her when she went out. He, at least, proved to be a real friend.

Rose should have been surprised when Sarah Jane knocked on her door one afternoon after an early shift at _Henrik’s_. A fortnight had passed since the ball. She’d spent that time working and doing anything she could think of to take her mind off things. “Do you have an appointment?” Mum asked, looking her up and down. Sarah Jane didn’t look like her ordinary clientele, but she’d taken on a handful of new customers lately and she hadn’t met all of them yet.

“I’m looking for Rose?” Sarah Jane asked.

“That’s my daughter.”

“I’m a friend of hers and John’s.” Of course, mentioning his name was a big mistake, and Rose jumped in to spare Sarah Jane the brunt of her mum’s anger. She’d been hiding in her room, in case it was Jimmy or John. 

The Doctor.

She hated herself for thinking of him like that; that he’d come back for her, and also that he still had so much power over her. Tears were starting to pool in her eyes when she stepped into the hall. Although she wasn’t really in the mood to talk to anyone who reminded her of John or the Doctor, she knew deep down that she needed to get it off her chest. Her mum didn’t deserve her lies, but she wouldn't understand the truth either.

“Maybe we could go for a walk?” Sarah Jane suggested.

“Sure,” Rose said, slipping into her sneakers and grabbing her coat and bag. “See you later, Mum.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” she asked sceptically.

“Yeah,” she said, wiping one stray tear off her cheek. Her mum narrowed her eyes but didn’t offer any further resistance.

“I was thinking that you might need someone to talk to,” Sarah Jane said as they crossed the courtyard towards the somewhat unkempt park. Rose was suddenly self-conscious of the estate. Sarah Jane looked so smart and sophisticated; she’d travelled with the Doctor. Of course, he’d take someone like her with him. Whatever John might have seen in her, the Doctor didn’t see it. His offer had been a common courtesy, nothing more.

She rubbed her forehead. She was so angry that she was judging a man who had saved the world with words instead of weapons. But he was here, and John was gone.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Rose said after they’d walked in silence for a while. The trees were starting to bud as the days grew warmer. The air already smelled different. It carried the whisper of flower fragrance and it felt alive after the crisp winter air.

“Start anywhere,” Sarah Jane offered.

“Have you talked to the Doctor since?”

“Yes. He was eager to see K9 again and meet Mr Smith.”

“You named your computer after him?”

“It’s only an alias,” the older woman admitted, “but yes, I did. It felt right at the time and I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. Imagine, he dropped me off in Aberdeen.”

“Good old Powell Estate for me,” Rose smiled, brushing back a lock of her hair.

“He took you where you wanted to go. I’d take that as a compliment.”

“What about Ian?”

“Oh, he went back to Cambridge, where he lives with his wife. They both travelled with him and became a couple,” she said.

“And they’re still together.”

“He does that. Change people’s lives. It’s what makes him so wonderful, but also terrible,” Sarah Jane said.

“Why did he hide himself? Why didn’t he live here as his Time Lord self and pretend he’s one of us? It’s not like he looks like Mr Spock.”

Sarah Jane laughed at her comparison but sobered quickly. “He’d like to explain that to you himself. One day, when you’re ready to listen.”

Rose stopped. “He said that?”

Sarah Jane touched her shoulder. “You’re special to him, Rose. He doesn’t come back for anyone.”

“Not even for you?”

She shook her head sadly. “No.”

“Would you travel with him again?”

She shook her head and dropped her hand from her shoulder. “For a while I thought I would, but the waiting is what wears you down, so eventually I made a life for myself.”

“Do you have a family?”

“No. My lifestyle isn't really conducive to a husband and children.”

“You’re not just an ordinary journalist then,” Rose said, pushing open the door to a small café on the other side of the park. They ordered tea and took it to a quiet table in the corner.

“Oh, I do work for _The Sunday Times_ , but my speciality is aliens. That’s what I’ve got K9 and Mr Smith for,” Sarah Jane explained.

“That’s how you knew about the Nestene Consciousness.”

Sarah Jane nodded.

“What’s it like, travelling with the Doctor?”

“It’s mad and dangerous, but also wonderful. Adjusting to life on Earth afterwards was hard. You get a taste of that splendour and then you have to go back.”

“Splendour?”

“Of the stars, of alien worlds that are so completely different from ours and yet so very similar. We’ve all got passion in common,” Sarah Jane said.

“So… there’s a lot out there. But he also… travels in time, yeah?” Rose asked carefully. For some reason, time travel sounded even more sci-fi than space travel. “I saw photos and a sketch of him. I thought they were clever manips, but they weren’t, were they?”

Sarah Jane shook her head. “No, they were probably genuine. Did he look like John?”

Rose frowned. She wanted to say that of course he did, but then she remembered what Sarah Jane had told her about regenerations. “Yeah.”

“Tell me. When and where was he?”

Rose told her, and that was strangely relaxing. It was good that there was someone she could turn to, who loved the Doctor but also knew about the pain of losing him, and all the madness in between.

When Sarah Jane gave her her business card, Rose promised to keep in touch, and she did. Sometimes, she even helped her new friend out when she couldn’t deal with a case by herself. And as promised, Sarah Jane answered all her questions as best she could, but of course she wouldn’t answer her most burning questions. And it was all right because she couldn’t have answered them anyway.

Rose slept, worked, ate little and worked some more. It was the best cure, she found, for a broken heart. Although she loved John, she taught herself to let go of him. After a while she stopped expecting him to come back, like Jimmy did every now and then, and she came to terms with the fact that she’d never get answers to some of her questions. 

Letting go was, of course, much easier said than done, and she found her art a powerful outlet for her emotions. She tried to channel her anger and disappointment in her actions into art, instead of at herself. She convinced herself that she hadn't loved John, but rather the idea of being in love. Once she’d got that out of her system, her pictures became brighter and more representational, although they clearly were her own style, incorporating her own view of the world. 

In September, she went back to school. She was one of the youngest to go back to school to complete her eduaction, but the others accepted her quickly. She didn’t, however, let herself get too close to any of them. She kept her job at _Henrik’s_ working after school and at the weekend, so she never lost touch with Aggie.

She did well academically, although her heart wasn’t really in it. She missed John, and she wondered what had become of the Last of the Time Lords. Sometimes, she went past _The Bookshop_ and looked inside, trying to catch a glimpse of John, but she only ever saw Naoko and an older gentleman. He must be Jamie Ashcroft, the owner. Although there was no trace of John, it took her a while to pluck up the courage to step inside the shop.

The latest _Miss Carline_ book had come out, and she remembered she still owed John the drawing. She laughed at herself as she studied the gallery of children’s drawings of _Miss Carline_ on the walls at _The Bookshop_. John was gone. She didn’t owe him anything. But what she could do was write her English term paper on children’s literature.

Rose never spoke to Mr Ashcroft, even though on a couple of occasions he seemed as if he were about to approach her. Naoko tried to talk to her a few times, but when Rose kept their conversations strictly professional, she got the message and stopped talking to her about John.

Sarah Jane’s article on indie bookshops was finally published, and it was Aggie who gave her the clipping. Rose had feared there might be a photo of John, but the photo was of Naoko and Jamie outside the shop. Even though there was no mention of John in the article, it was still a powerful reminder of the wonderful days she and John had in the spring.

There was a letter from Ian once, in which he tried to explain about the Doctor and what he did, but as soon as she realised what it was, she put the expensive paper back into its envelope. She took one of the free postcards from the cinema and sent it to Ian, telling him that she didn’t want to discuss the Doctor.

After a long absence, Jimmy turned up on the estate again. Since he and his band had been fairly successful with their tour across the isles and they had behaved themselves (if the tabloids were to be believed), her mum invited him in when he knocked on their door.

Rose was livid.

“Please, Rose. Hear me out,” he said. He looked healthier despite the exhaustion of the tour.

“I’m not going to work for you,” she said, stopping herself from crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I miss you,” he said. “You were there for me when I needed you most but appreciated you least, and then I treated you like shite.”

“Jimmy. You paid back your debts. All I want for you is to be out of my life forever,” she said.

“Are you still with the bookseller?” he asked.

She wanted to lie, but her heart was faster than her brain. “We split up.”

Jimmy did his best to suppress his joy at the news. “Why don’t you give us another try? Give me a chance to make it up to you. Show you that I can be a decent bloke.”

“I can’t, Jimmy. I’m building a life for myself now, and there’s no room in it for you.” Jimmy and his band were the latest fad; the girls in her form would go mad if they learned that she was sitting in her lounge turning him down. Most of them would kill to be in her situation right now. She’d kill to make it all go away.

“I am serious, though.”

“So am I.”

“I can provide for you. Better than this, better than the bookseller,” he said, getting desperate. Rose knew it was going be hard to make him leave.

“And I’m glad that you’re doing so well. I truly am. But your life is not my idea of a good life, yeah?”

“Are you going all academic on me?”

Rose sighed and cupped her forehead. “No. I just don’t want a relationship. Not with anyone.” _Although I’m going to tell you that I don’t want one especially with you if you don’t leave._

Jimmy seemed to accept that, and that surprised her. The old Jimmy would never have left her alone so quickly. He kept sending her invites to gigs and parties, but the friendly giant never came with it, and Micky reported him hovering in the courtyard occasionally, but that was all.

It was the first Thursday in May 2007, however, when everything changed.

The six o’clock news were filled with images of moving shop window dummies. At first, Rose and her mum thought that it was a commemorative clip until they realised that the threat was quite real. That it was happening again. Rose sat very still in her armchair, squashing the copy of the latest _Miss Carline_ book between her thighs and her torso.

“It’s happening all over again,” her mum whispered, terrified. “You’re not going in to _Henrik’s_ tomorrow, you hear me.”

“But how is that possible?” Rose said. “The Doctor took the Nestene Consciousness to that planet. And everything’s been quiet since.”

“Don’t you start with that horrible man!” her mum groused. “If I never see him again that’s too soon.”

Rose’s phone rang and she accepted the call absentmindedly.

“Rose? It’s Sarah Jane. Are you watching the news?”

“Yeah,” she said, finally anchoring herself in reality with her feet on the ground. “Is this real?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How is that possible? I thought the Doctor had taken care of things,” she said. Her mother’s ears pricked up at the mention of John’s alias. Rose stood and went into her room so she could talk in private.

“Two possibilities,” Sarah Jane began, “Mr Smith is still busy calculating, but I need to brainstorm these. Either a new vat of Nestene Consciousness has come to Earth because it sensed the lingering traces of vat’s presence from two years ago, or because it simply finds the Earth attractive. Or we failed to remove all of it and now it’s grown and become strong enough to make trouble again.”

“Or ask for help,” Rose said. “Could be, yeah? That they’re just trying to attract our attention.”

“Why not use plastic that can’t do any harm?”

Rose sighed, cupping her forehead. “True. So. What do we do?” They couldn't just transport the Nestene Consciousness to another planet the way the Doctor had, and she doubted that if they invoked parley they’d even listen to her. And she had no way of contacting the Doctor.

“We call for help,” Sarah Jane said.

Rose laughed.

“Sometimes, it helps,” Sarah Jane insisted.

“Why are you calling me?”

Sarah Jane sighed. “We were hoping you’d help us. You’re special to the Doctor.”

She snorted.

“No, please, Rose. He loves you. We could both see it. He’d have done anything for you, and I’m sure that if you called for help now he’d come and… rescue all of us. Again.”

“So basically it’s about me getting past my pride, or what little is left of it,” Rose said.

“Basically, yes.”

This shouldn’t be a decision at all, considering what was at stake. And it wasn’t, not really. “How do I do it?” she asked, scrubbing her hand down her face.

“Ask for help. Think of it constantly. I’m sure that some part of him is always listening in, just to make sure we’re all right. He does that. He’s a big fan of us.”

“Us?”

“Earth. Mankind.”

“Ah, and there I went and thought he might like _us_ us. You know. Ian, you and me,” she said.

“But he does. He’s just not good at long term stuff. I suppose it has to do with his age.”

“Why, what about it?”

“He’s hundreds of years old, Rose. Imagine what that means to him. He’ll lose companions over and over again. And I could tell that this time, something really bad happened,” she said. “He gave up being a Time Lord to live like a human.”

“Could have just been an experiment.”

Rose pictured her shaking her head. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26  
3 May 2007

For more than a year she’d tried to forget about the Doctor. It wasn't made any easier by the sheer magnitude of what had happened. It wasn't every day that you discovered that your boyfriend is an alien with the power to save the earth, indeed all Mankind, at his fingertips. But eventually she had put the events in London’s murky underbelly behind her and moved on. It had been a once-in-a-lifetime experience, the kind that was so remarkable that you began to wonder if it had really happened.

Sarah Jane had approached her occasionally for help when Mr Smith, the computer, identified a case of alien activity — or a story that she’d uncovered during her work as a journalist. That had proved to be a largely unwelcome reminder of the fact that aliens did exist, and that the Earth wasn’t the only inhabited planet in the universe. It also reminded her of her adventure with the Doctor.

But forgetting the Doctor, whom she'd only known for a few hours, was child’s play compared to forgetting John. Her feelings for him ran a lot deeper than those for the elusive Doctor, John had shown her an entirely new world in the few weeks that they’d had together. He'd shown her that you could feel the unconditional love she felt for her mum, for a partner. That was certainly different from her affection for Mickey and the admiration she’d once had for Jimmy. She had truly loved John. It wasn’t only that he had restored her faith in men, he’d taught her that it was possible to enjoy sex. He had listened to her and respected her as the young woman she was. It never even occurred to him to try to turn her into someone that would just look good on his arm; someone who lacked hopes and dreams and ideas of her own.

That made his betrayal all the more painful. It was not even that the Doctor had treated her any differently than John had. He hadn't. In his mind, she reckoned, nothing much had changed. He’d regained part of his identity that he’d kept hidden in that ridiculously small fob watch, a part of himself that he had sorely missed. But it was that part that made him completely different to her, turned him into a man she didn’t recognise, that she didn't think she could trust; who knew what else he’d reveal about himself?

The bottom line was that even though he knew that people had been taking advantage of her all her life, the Doctor expected her to trust him without giving her a reason to do so. But she’d finally reached the point in her life where she could say no.

But now she was haunted by the nagging doubt that saying no had been the wrong decision this time. It was a feeling she couldn't seem to shake, which was why, two years on, Sarah Jane’s call had caught her off guard.

She knew, intellectually, that saying no had been the right thing to do on several levels. She’d had time to recover, to find out who she was and what she wanted. She was close to sitting her final exams, and she was going to pass with flying colours. Her career advisor had told her in confidence that she was one of the ten top pupils in her year, and had provided her with a kilo’s worth of brochures and prospectuses from universities. Mum had gaped at them, but Rose, scared of the implications of going to uni, hadn’t touched them since she’d set them down in a neat pile between the wall and her bedside table.

Saying no had given her the energy to pursue her A-levels. She’d turned all the anger and disappointment, which would have turned into a Gordian Knot inside her by the end of the summer if it hadn’t been for the prospect of school. Every time Jimmy turned up in the courtyard she’d redoubled her efforts.

Mum, Sarah Jane, Mickey and Aggie were worried about her. In addition to studying, she’d kept working at _Henrik’s_. Aggie had made her promise that after the exams were over, she’d treat herself to a holiday.

The thing was, she had nowhere to go after her exams. John would have gone anywhere with her, but she didn't want to go alone.

And now this.

There was no doubt that she would ask the Doctor for help. She knew what was at stake. She’d never allow her own feelings to prevent her from considering the greater good before herself. She’d just have to curl up afterwards and hope for the personal feelings to dissipate again. With hard, dedicated work. Maybe uni wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Rose?” her mum asked, sitting up straight where she’d been curled up in her corner of the sofa. “It’s not… _him_ , is it?” 

Rose shook her head. “No, that was Sarah Jane.”

“Does she need your help?” Her mum knew she’d been helping Sarah Jane occasionally. She was of two minds over her daughter being involved. On one hand, she was exposed to alien dangers, but on the other hand she was grateful that, aside from the obvious 'saving the world from danger,' Rose was out doing something other than studying or working at _Henrik’s_ ; it gave her a chance to _live_ a little. 

Rose looked at her, debating what to say. In the end she decided to say yes. 

“It’s the dummies, isn't it?” her mum said, gesturing vaguely at the screen of the telly. The weather forecast was on. “Didn’t J— the Doctor take care of them?”

“That’s what puzzles us,” Rose said softly.

“Well, what’re you going to do?”

She took a deep breath. “Call the Doctor for help.”

Her mum stared at her. She was, as usual, an open book to Rose. And what she saw surprised her. The muscles in her jaw were tense with determination, but there was also that softness around her eyes that betrayed her concern. “Well, then you’ll have to call him, won’t you? Sweetheart?”

“You’re not… against it?”

“Those dummies are dangerous, aren’t they? They’ve tried this before,” her mum said. Then she slumped. “We didn’t mean to tell you like this. But… Howard and I, we’re getting married, and I want that wedding more than anything else in the world. I love him, so much, and I won’t allow some plastic monsters to come between us.”

Rose felt herself sink deeper into the seat cushion of the armchair. “You’re what?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. We’d meant to tell you at the weekend, over a nice dinner, a proper sit-down.”

She was too surprised by what her mum had said to be able to react, so she focused on the task at hand. “You want me to call the Doctor?”

“Yeah, go on!” her mum said. Then she frowned. “How are you going to do it?”

Rose shrugged. “Sarah Jane told me to wish hard enough for him to come.”

Her mum snorted. “How old does she think you are? It’s not like he’s Father bloody Christmas. Sorry.”

She chuckled, and with the sound released her tension. “No, but she’s the expert when it comes to the Doctor. So I suppose I’ll just have to do what she says.”

“Why doesn’t she contact him then?”

“I don’t know.” Part of Rose hoped that Sarah Jane knew that he would listen to her because John loved her, but then she had no idea if the Doctor was at all conscious of John. Anyway, it didn’t matter. What was important was the welfare of the general public. To them it didn’t matter if her little heart got broken.

“Well?”

_Please, Doctor. We need your help. It’s the living plastic again._

“Done,” Rose said, and just to make sure, repeated her shout-out to the universe.

“How _does_ it work?” her mum wondered, hugging a cushion.

Rose gnawed the back of her thumb and stared at the telly unseeing. How did it work indeed?

A knock on the door startled them. “That’ll be Mickey,” Rose said, standing to go let him in. They'd planned to go out for a drink.

“Rose, hi.” It was Jimmy. He looked a bit odd, like an overdone manip from a magazine cover. That, and her unwillingness to have anything to do with him made her stiffen. She pursed her lips.

“It’s not a good time, Jimmy,” she said. “I’m about to go out.”

“With Mickey, yeah, I know,” Jimmy said, brushing inside past her. She stumbled aside with a yelp.

“You’re not welcome here. Go. Now,” she said firmly, catching up with him as he went further into their hall. Their exchange had roused her mum, who appeared in the doorway of the lounge.

“What’s he doing here?” she sneered.

“I’d just like to talk to Rose,” Jimmy said, softening up a little under her mum’s stern gaze.

“I can’t imagine she’d want to listen to you.”

“I don’t,” Rose confirmed.

“You’re in danger,” he said.

“So’re you if you don’t leave my flat now,” her mum said, pulling her mobile out of the pocket of her tracksuit bottoms. “I’m going to call the police, and I don’t care how famous you are and what it might do to your reputation. You should have thought of that before you came here uninvited.”

Rose looked on in horror as Jimmy growled in frustration, raised his hand, which had somehow turned into a paddle, and swung it at her mum. He hit her side and sent her crashing into the drywall separating Rose’s room from the hall. Rose could hear the wind being knocked out of her mother like in a cartoon, and for a moment she stood motionless, what she'd just seen too incredible to prompt a reaction of her own.

She noticed her mum’s mobile clattering onto the floor, but the thick new carpeting broke the fall. She switched her gaze from where the phone had landed to Jimmy's face. And suddenly it dawned on her that she needed to do something.

“Jimmy?”

“Rose. Sugar. Sweetheart. Honey. Bitch,” he said, the full stops between the names punctuating his list like badly edited audio. It was as if he, too, were surprised by his actions. The worst thing was that Rose believed he was. She also believed that he wasn’t himself any more.

“Jimmy?” She reached out for him, terrified that he might react to her like he had to her mum, but also aware that something was very wrong. A quick glance at her mum, who groaned and stirred groggily, confirmed that she was conscious at least.

“Rose,” he said, looking at her questioningly.

“It’s going to be all right, Jimmy. I’ve called for help. Just… just stay calm, yeah?” she said gently, moving slowly towards her mum to make sure that she was really all right. In one fluid motion she also reached for her mobile.

“Rose,” Jimmy repeated. Her name was becoming his mantra, anchoring to him to his conscious in his strange, plastic body.

Rose froze as she understood what was going on. For some reason, the Nestene Consciousness was still — or again — active on Earth, and this time it hadn’t only animated plastic toys and shop window dummies but it had also taken possession of human bodies. She could only guess why, but the safest bet was that it needed a vessel of some sort, or an ambassador to conduct the negotiations. And why not take the frontman of one of the most popular and successful bands in recent pop history.

_Doctor, please, we need you._

“Jimmy,” she whispered nervously, realising that if he was indeed some kind of messenger, so was she for as long as she was alone with him, and she better use all of the authority she could muster. She, too, was an ambassador now, for no one less than the entirety of mankind. Just what an A-level student needed. “Jimmy, we can talk, yeah? Just let me take a look at mum and check if she’s all right.”

Jimmy blinked, tipping his head to the side as if that facilitated thinking, and it occurred to Rose that he was checking in with the Nestene Consciousness if that was all right. When he was sure that neither she nor her request posed any threat, he nodded.

“Mum?” Rose bent over her mum, gently easing her down so she lay flat on the floor rather than crumpled as she'd been, a bit like a rag doll. She knew that positioning her mother on her side would have been better, but since she was conscious and Rose couldn’t tell if her back was injured, she opted for stabilising her back.

Her mum groaned, but she moved her hand as if to reach for her head, and Rose was satisfied that, for now at least, she seemed to be all right.

“Rose, sweetheart,” Jimmy said, his voice oddly clipped. “I love you.”

Rose looked up. It must be his subconscious speaking. Which was good news because it meant that he was still in there somewhere, in this strange human plastic body. “Yeah,” she said, for lack of anything else to say. Another refusal wouldn’t get through, and she didn’t want to upset him in this fragile state. The important thing was to keep him talking.

“I do,” he repeated. “I want to. Marry you. Sugar. Love.”

_What?_

“Let’s… let’s talk about that later, yeah?”

_Doctor, I really need you. Now. Here. Please. Please._

Her fingers tightened around her mum’s mobile. There wasn’t really anyone she could call. The emergency services wouldn’t know what to do with him. In all likelihood, they’d only make things worse. Sarah Jane’s number wasn’t stored in her mum’s mobile, and there was no way she’d be able to contact the Doctor physically.

There was another knock on the door. Jimmy’s mask-like face whipped towards the sound with surprising agility.

“That’ll be Mickey,” Rose said. “You remember him, yeah? We were meant to go out for a drink. Just a friendly chat.”

Jimmy nodded slowly.

Rose pursed her lips and thought that whatever he deserved, he certainly didn’t deserve to be turned into a puppet on a string by some alien entity. She moved slowly towards the door to let Mickey in.

“You ready to go out?” her best friend asked cheerfully, not noticing either Jimmy or her mum at first. When his eyes settled first on him, then on her, his eyes widened. “What… holy shit, Jackie! What’s happened?”

His alarm raised Jimmy’s senses too, and he straightened as his alertness intensified. Mickey dropped to his knees by Jackie’s side, his hands roaming helplessly.

“Just a misunderstanding, Mickey,” Rose tried to reassure him.

Mickey looked up, first at her, then at plastic-faced Jimmy. The more she thought about it, the more Jimmy looked as though he were wearing one of those clear plastic masks that squashed your face til it looked like you were pressing it up against a window. Despite the mask, the expression on Jimmy’s face changed to angry.

“A half-conscious woman with a black eye doesn’t seem like a misunderstanding to me,” Mickey protested, rising to his feet.

“Mickey, please,” she said. “Just… leave it.”

His eyes narrowed at the same time as he slowed his movements down, finally, hopefully, aware of the kind of danger they were in.

“I asked Rose to marry me,” Jimmy said, his voice flat.

“You what!?” Mickey cried.

Rose grabbed his arm and dug her fingers into his flesh. He whipped around with an accusing “Ouch!” but her glare shut him up. “You’re not really considering?”

“Now’s not the time,” she said evenly, hoping that he’d intuit that she’d probably not marry a plastic guy but that she wouldn’t tell said plastic guy that to his face. He’d felled Jackie as if he’d been wiping a table, and she certainly didn’t want to find out what else he was capable of. 

Mickey’s eyes rarely were so sparkly, but to her relief, he seemed to catch on. “So,” he said aimlessly.

“Jimmy,” she said, turning towards her unwanted visitor. Where was the Doctor? Had he heard her at all? And would he still be coming to her rescue? Sarah Jane had an awful lot of faith in his willingness to help. Although she remembered his crushed expression well when she’d told him that she wasn’t going with him, she had no way of telling how that news had really made him feel. John, she knew, would have been gutted. But the Doctor was, for all she knew, an entirely different man, an alien — she had no way of knowing if he had feelings that could be hurt like a human did. She had never discussed his alienness with Sarah Jane. They hadn’t discussed him much at all, for that matter, something she regretted now.

All she had to go on was Sarah Jane’s trust that he would turn up to help mankind, if not her. Or his godchild. She’d been wondering about the Harcourts, but she’d never done anything beyond wondering about them. She still had no idea if they’d known who John really was. Probably not, given how long it had taken Sarah Jane to recognise him.

“Jimmy, what can I do for you?”

“Marry me. Honey, Sweetheart, Sugar,” he repeated doggedly in his odd staccato way of speaking.

“I mean right now,” she said.

“Marry me. Please. Rose,” he said. There seemed to still be a human part of him left, which made the sound of her name all the more poignant. She steeled herself, unwilling to soften up.

“Is there a message you’d like to give me? From your… masters?” she ventured calmly.

“We are forgotten,” he replied, his voice back to the automated voice message sound she knew from leaving people voice mails.

“We?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s we?” Mickey asked, less patient than she.

“We. Our kind.”

“Our kind?” she asked gently. _Doctor, please. I really need you_. How on earth he’d get her message she had no idea, all she could do was follow Sarah Jane’s anything but comprehensive instructions.

“Autons.” 

Suddenly, Jimmy straightened as if listening to an inner voice. It was probably just that, too, for he remained straight but the light in his eyes dimmed and he relaxed a bit as if he were being put into stand-by.

“What’s happening?” Mickey asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, never looking away from Jimmy.

“You’re the expert!” Mickey squeaked. “You go running around fighting aliens all the time, and you don’t know? You’re supposed to be the clever one!”

“He seems to be waiting for further instructions,” she mused.

“Rose?”

“I’m here, Mum, I’m fine. You just… stay calm. Mickey’s going to take care of you,” she said, only glancing briefly at her mum. She looked all right, despite the rather magnificent black eye and bruise that covered the left side of her face.

“I’m what?” Mickey squeaked.

“Please, Micks. Get her a glass of water and a bag of peas for her bruise,” she instructed. She needed to concentrate on the Doctor — _Where are you?_ — and Jimmy the Auton.

Mickey had just left for the kitchen somewhat reluctantly when Jimmy jerked to life again, his arms and legs flailing as if he were aware of them for the first time in his life and had no idea how to use them, before he crumpled to the floor.

“Jimmy?” she asked, standing still, but remaining alert. If he was anything like the toys and dummies, he was radio-controlled. Collapsing like this could only mean one thing: the signal had been cut, the link to the Nestene Consciousness severed.

“Thank you,” she murmured to no one in particular.

“My pleasure,” said John’s voice from the open front door.

The doorway was filled with his dark-clad form as he leant nonchalantly against the frame, grinning self-contentedly.

“You,” she said. “You came. You actually came.”

He shrugged, pushing himself away from the frame to step into the flat, taking care to close the door behind him. “Your wish is my command, Rose Tyler. Or should I say, I’m at your beck and call?”


	27. Chapter 27

“You!” Mickey spat at the Doctor. Of course he’d choose that very moment to return from the kitchen. 

“It’s all right, Micks,” she said. “He’s actually here to help.” _Finally._ She went to Mickey to relieve him of the bag of peas and the glass of water that was perilously close to spilling. The Doctor could wait, she needed to see to her mum first. Kneeling by her side, she wrapped the towel Mickey had brought with him around the frozen bag and gently pressed it to the darkening bruise on her mum’s face, eliciting a hiss. Her mum placed her own hand on top of Rose's to keep the cold in place.

“So he actually came?” she asked, making a jerky movement with her head. The bag of peas would have slipped if it hadn’t been for both them holding onto it.

“Why’s everyone questioning my readiness to help?” the Doctor huffed. “Of course I’d come. Always, always for you, Rose Tyler.”

The way her name rolled off his tongue tightened something inside her and she focused on her mum again. She helped her sit upright, despite her earlier fear that she might be more seriously injured. 

“Here, let me just have a quick look at you, Jackie,” the Doctor said, stepping over Jimmy’s splayed legs.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Jackie snarled.

“No, Mum. Actually, that’s quite a good idea,” Rose protested, rubbing her mum’s upper arm soothingly. “Please, better to be safe than sorry, yeah?”

“And he’s the one for that, eh?”

“I do know one or the other thing about human anatomy,” the Doctor said, crouching beside them.

Mum snorted. “You don’t say.”

“Mum!” Rose cried.

The Doctor pulled out his sonic whatever and fiddled a moment with it before he was satisfied that it was on the right setting. Then he moved it slowly over her mother’s body to scan for injury, trailing a pale blue light as he moved it. The high pitched whirring it emitted was not particularly pleasant, but she knew that the device had helped when they’d first dealt with the Nestene Consciousness, so the sound was linked to a reassuring result.

The sound ended abruptly. “Apart from the bruising you’re fine. No damage done to your spine or other vital organs,” he said, pocketing his sonic whatever.

Rose sighed in relief, and even her mum couldn’t suppress her feelings despite her opinion on the Doctor. “Thanks,” she said.

Mickey reached out for her to help her up. “Let’s get you onto the sofa, Jacks,” he said. “I’ve put the kettle on for a nice cuppa.”

Her mum allowed him to help her up, and the Doctor tried to lend a steadying hand too, but she jerked away from him as soon as she was standing.

“Thanks for coming,” Rose said, watching Mickey guide her mum to the lounge. Then she looked at him, her curiosity getting the better of her. “How did you know I was calling you?”

He produced a warrant-card shaped wallet from his inner breast-pocket and flipped it open. It was blank. Rose stared at for a moment, wondering if he was having her on, before she raised her eyes to his.

The frown lines on his forehead smoothed a little as realisation hit; that made one at least. “It’s psychic paper. It reads whatever people expect it to read,” he said, flipping the wallet shut. “Apparently, you’re too clever for it to work on you. Fantastic. Just like… you.”

“You wanted it to read my cry for help?” Rose concluded.

“What? No!” he back-pedalled. “It also reads other people’s thoughts.”

Rose froze. “You read my thoughts?”

“No!” he huffed, his earlier delight turning quickly into annoyance. “It picks up other people’s thoughts. People who… need help in quite extraordinary situations. Like you right now.”

Rose frowned. She wasn’t entirely convinced that they were just _people_ to him, but she decided to drop the issue for the moment. There were more important things to take care of. “Why did they come alive again?” she asked, crouching to check on Jimmy. She pressed her fingers to his jugular. Although no expert, she thought that the slow and steady pulse was reassuring. Jimmy seemed to still be human, no matter how cartoonish his rigid, flat face looked like. “Will he be all right?”

“There is a sleeper cell of Nestene-controlled dummies and people,” the Doctor explained, standing. The leather of his unseasonably heavy coat creaked in the process.

“Did the Nestene Consciousness break its promise?”

“I don’t think so. They are quite comfortable on Shhuparhurdi IV/*5. It must be someone or something else. Care to find out?” he asked, his face brightening in hope as he asked.

“I — I don’t think I’m the right kinda person for that,” Rose said.

“Nonsense. You’re perfect,” he said, holding out his hand for her. “Please?”

“What about Sarah Jane?”

“She’s needed here,” he said. “She knows what to do.”

Rose reached for his hand, still not convinced that she’d be able to help him out. When their hands touched, a shiver went through her. His hand was cool; he was probably just as nervous about this as she was. She wasn’t sure if that was a reassuring thought. “Do you? Know what’s best?” she asked.

“Yes. But a second opinion can’t hurt.”

“From me? You’re the alien hunter.”

He sighed, tightening his fingers around the delicate bones of her hand. “I’m not a hunter, and I’m only an alien to you.”

She froze briefly, her faux-pas registering after a few seconds. “The Nestene Consciousness. Is it back?”

“It’s not back. I believe that what we’re dealing with is the first batch of human Autons — the next stage of the experiment,” he said.

“Which started with the plastic toys and was then moved to the shop window dummies,” she concluded.

He grinned. “See why I want you?”

She stared at him.

“On this, why I want you with me on this. You’re brilliant, you are, Rose Tyler,” he beamed. “Shall we?”

“Let me just check on mum,” she said, letting go of his hand. She needed to make sure that Jimmy hadn’t hurt her, despite the Doctor’s earlier diagnosis. After all, she doubted that he could assess her mum’s mental well-being.

“I’ll take care of him,” the Doctor agreed. “Meet you at the TARDIS.”

Rose nodded briefly, but she was already moving towards the lounge, where her mum had snuggled into her corner of the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her legs, her trembling hands steadied by a cuppa.

“Rose, sweetheart!”

“I’m all right, Mum,” she said, sitting by her side on the very edge of the sofa.

“You’re not leaving with him, are you?”

Rose took a deep breath. “I have to. I promise to be careful.”

“What about that lump of uselessness in the hall? I’m not having him in here when he wakes up!” she cried in exasperation.

“The Doctor’s taking care of him, so don’t worry, yeah?”

“Is it safe, though? Going with him?” Mickey asked.

“I think so.”

“You think!?”

She sighed. “Look, I can’t just stay here and do nothing. I’ll be just as safe as I was when I was working with Sarah Jane, yeah?” Nothing bad had happened then, if you didn’t count cuts, bruises, and the occasional bath in fluids of varying degrees of gelatinousness.

“Oh, go on then! Show those silly buggers who’s boss. And himself. I’ll have a word or two with him when you’re back.”

There was no doubt that the Doctor was in for one of her mother’s infamous slaps; she supposed he deserved it to some degree. But he hadn’t set out to cause her pain, and it had been her decision to stay behind and get an education. Rose smiled, kissed her mum’s cheek and ran after the Doctor.

-:-

A comparably tiny vat, no larger than a baby bath, of the magma-like mass bubbled and swirled in the vast chamber beneath the London Eye. Rose took a step backwards as the acrid vapours stung her nose and eyes. This was worse than the smell of burning plastic had been when some idiots had thought it a great idea to set some of the school chairs on fire to see if they would burn.

The heat emanating from the bright green baby bath was too much for her, and in a tiny corner of her mind she wondered why the baby bath didn’t melt. It must be made of the same material, she reckoned. But that was a question for later, for now she needed to focus on what was going on, there would be time to ask all of her questions when they'd cleaned this mess up. 

“Why?” the Doctor demanded to know, without preamble, planting himself in front of the baby bath. 

“So the Autons are working?” the goo asked.

For a moment Rose was confused, but then she remembered what the Doctor had told her about the TARDIS’ translation circuit. She wondered briefly if he spoke English at all; it was one more for the list she supposed.

“Yes!” the Doctor replied in exasperation. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“There was a deal?” the goo asked innocently.

“I took you to Shhuparhurdi IV/*5. All you had to do was cease all activity here. And yet here we are,” he said bitterly, folding his arms in front of him. The goo was making his face glow an unhealthy orange; it was completely different from the mellow glow from the light from his fireplace. But those were, she supposed, different times.

“It was your fault to begin with,” the goo said.

“I took you to a new home! I set your world to rights!” he ranted.

“You did, but only to a degree.”

“I did the best I could. I gave you everything I promised you,” he snarled.

Rose reached out for his leather-clad upper arm. “Doctor,” she said softly. The leather was warm to the touch from the goo’s radiant heat. He turned to look at her, his expression thunderous. It wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Why didn’t all of you leave?” she asked, stepping forward, letting go of the Doctor’s arm. “People got hurt today. My mother was one of them.” She had no idea if invoking mothers was just as powerful as invoking the fate of Earth’s children had been two years earlier, but it was worth a try. Certainly, making things personal was worth a try.

“Because of the experiment. It works, doesn’t it?” the goo said.

“Yes, it does.”

“That is a success.”

“So what happens now? You have your result,” Rose said. “And you have a new home. Isn’t that what you wanted? Or is something wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It was just about the experiment.”

“So you turned these poor people into Autons just because you could?” the Doctor said. “There’s little that I despise more than that.”

“There was no sign it would work,” the goo replied, bubbling indignantly.

“But you know now,” Rose said gently. The Doctor was right in his anger, but things mustn’t escalate.

“True,” the goo agreed.

“So what now?” Rose repeated her earlier question. “There’s no need to take over the Earth, is there? Now that you have a new planet.” She nearly added, _Besides, it’s hardly our fault that your original world was destroyed._ But that sounded childish, and she didn’t want to stoop to the goo’s level.

There were a few moments of bubbling-filled silence, punctuated once or twice by some of the bubbles exploding. The Doctor pulled her towards him then, his fingers digging into her upper arms as he restrained her. She wanted to tell him that there was no need for that, but she held her peace.

“Very well,” the goo said. “The experiment is over.”

“Release all the humans under your control,” the Doctor demanded, “and tell us what we have to do to repair any damage done to them. I will destroy all the relays you’ve re-established.”

The Nestene Consciousness exploded in what she only could describe as a cackling sound, and the Doctor’s hands around her arms tightened just as some globs of the burning goo showered her. Rose shrieked in pain as the stinking jelly bit into her skin; it even went through the thin cotton of her top. She froze at first, unable to comprehend what was happening, then her world turned to fire from the inside out.

-:-

She opened her eyes expecting all-consuming pain. But instead she felt as if she’d had a good night’s sleep; it was a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time. There was usually so much to do and so little time, particularly for some rest.

There was a familiar pattern of slightly distorted stripes and the Ayers Rock-like landscape of her body beneath the sheets on the wall opposite the window.

She withdrew her hand from beneath the cool sheet to rub her eyes; it must have been a dream, and despite her protestations, her mum had changed the sheets on her bed. They must be new, the material almost like silk against her skin. It was as if the material were damp, like she was covered in a thin coat of water.

“How are you feeling?”

“John?” She looked in the direction from which his voice had come. “Doctor,” she corrected herself.

He approached her bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite good, actually,” she said, her voice a little raspy from the long rest it had had. “I’m thirsty.”

Smiling, he passed her a glass of water as she sat up. She drank gratefully. Then she realised that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath the strange sheet, and she clutched at it as it was about to slide off her.

“It’s Nonipelli,” the Doctor said. “I helps burns heal. Can I have a look?”

Rose guffawed. “No!” It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her naked before. It just felt wrong in this situation. He was, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger, even though he wore the face of the man of her dreams.

“You’ll have to check for me then,” he said. “You can do that, can’t you?”

He moved away to give her some room, and she lifted the sheet off her. All she saw was perfectly pink skin. Maybe a bit too perfect. “The goo,” she began.

“It burnt you, badly. Are you all right, though?” he asked, anxiousness creeping into his voice.

“Looks like it. All pink and soft, like a baby’s bottom,” she said.

He closed his eyes and his jawline softened at her words.

“What happened?”

“The Nestene Consciousness was unwilling to give up its provisional army of human Autons. I had to use my last resort.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“Anti-plastic.”

She tried not to giggle, but her mouth betrayed her amusement anyway. “And?”

“And I’m not proud of it,” he said. “But I’m glad that you’re all right. You are, though, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am. I don’t remember much. Just… being showered by the goo.”

He nodded. “I’d better… tell your mum that…”

“Don’t leave!” she said, reaching out for him. “Please.”

He rubbed his left cheek. _Mum must have slapped him. Hard._ “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You owe me some answers,” she pointed out.

He sighed, having seen it coming, and dreading it. “All right.”

“What happened to Jimmy?”

“Should feel a bit hung-over. I… I might have planted an idea in his head, but other than that, he should be fine.” He grinned and nodded crisply, leaving the room before she could ask him what idea that was.

To her surprise, he was still in the flat when she returned from her shower. Her new skin was still tender, but there were no scars, and the water had soothed the spots that she’d accidentally scrubbed a little to vigorously. Her mum enveloped her in a tight, quiet hug and held her like this for the longest time. When she let go, she shoved a hot cuppa into her hands. “I’ll… I’ll get us some food for tea, then.”

Rose frowned. It was unlike her to leave when things started to get interesting, but then she remembered the slap and that she’d probably made the Doctor tell her everything while she’d been asleep.

“What idea did you plant in Jimmy’s head?” she asked as she heard the door click shut behind her mum. Rose curled up in her armchair, her fingers wrapped around the ceramic.

“That you’re spoken for. Sometimes it’s easier if a bloke hears it from another bloke.”

“You sound like a Northerner,” she said, blowing over her tea.

He crossed his arms in front of himself; he wasn’t wearing his leather coat, but one of John’s soft jumpers. A deep plum colour, it was one of her favourites. “Lots of planets have a north.”

She grinned. Of all the questions she wanted to ask him, she had no idea why she'd started with that one. “Thanks. For doing that for me. And the Nonipelli sheet.” She’d folded it neatly to return to him. Doctors at hospitals all over the world would kill for the technology, but keeping it just wouldn’t be right.

“It’s the least I could do.”

She looked at him for the longest time, weighing her questions carefully. “You haven’t changed.”

He sat on the sofa, reaching for a mug on the coffee table. “Time Lords and Humans look alike on the outside,” he said. “When I changed my biology there was no need for me to change my looks.”

“What’s different, then?”

“My mind. It has to be… bigger for a Time Lord consciousness. And I have two hearts, a respiratory bypass system and other handy features.”

“Two hearts?”

He nodded.

“Can I feel?” she asked, surprising herself. She put her own mug down on the coffee table.

He nodded, and she moved towards him on her knees and pressed her hand just to the left of his sternum, where she felt the dull throb of his heart. Then she added her other hand, just beside it, and felt a second dull throb. Wishing she could sit like that all night, she withdrew her hands and sat back on her heels. He wasn’t hers to touch any more.


	28. Chapter 28

“I was pretty useless down there,” Rose said after a few beats of quietly kneeling before him. 

He stared at her, at her words as they hung between them in the quiet of the flat. Jackie hadn’t just gone out to get something for tea. For some reason, she trusted him to be alone with her daughter. A shiver went through him at the notion; she’d slapped him soundly earlier, after he’d bundled Rose into bed with the Nonipelli sheet.

Rose shouldn’t be kneeling in front of him like she was. He should be kneeling before her. He shifted towards the edge of the sofa and slid off it once Rose scooted backwards a little to make room for him. There was a frown, accompanied with a couple of deep lines in her brow that he wanted to smooth away. “No, you weren’t. You saved my life.”

Rose held his gaze, and he thought that she must have seen he meant every word when she shook her head. “I put myself in danger. I am a liability. You could probably have saved the Nestene Consciousness if it hadn’t been for me. I provoked it.”

“No. You didn’t,” he insisted, sounding more indignant than he’d intended. “You were very calm and you reasoned with it. It wasn’t receptive to rational suggestions at that point.”

“How did I save you then?”

To her, the plastic must have been just a bit of burning hot goo that sprayed her. She had no idea of the danger she had been in, nor of how disastrous the injury would have been to him. For a long moment he debated telling her the truth. After all that had happened, he supposed that she deserved the truth. He feared that regaining her trust, or even affection, to say nothing of love, was beyond his reach, but treating her with the courtesy and respect she deserved was a good place to start.

“Time Lords, when fatally injured, don’t die as such. They have the ability to change their body, quite literally becoming a different man, to save their lives,” he began, holding her gaze to see the moment when he lost her. But it never happened.

“Not so different from what you did to John then,” she said.

“Completely different. John was Human, not Gallifreyan — Time Lord,” he said. “A Time Lord who regenerates is still a Time Lord. Just in an entirely different body.”

“With two hearts and a respiratory bypass system and a big brain,” she added.

He grinned, his chest expanding. It had been a long time since he’d been able to trust anyone with the concept of regeneration. “Yes.”

“So… this is not the body you grew up in?”

“No. This is my ninth body.”

“And exactly how old are you?”

“Oi, that’s a bit rude.”

Rose laughed. “Really?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m a little over nine-hundred. Give or take, I keep losing track.”

“You’ve worn well,” she said, looking at him more closely. “Where is John? In that fob watch?”

He shook his head. “No. He is a part of me.” He wanted to say that he was more a part of him than he liked, but that wasn't really true. He had lived as John for two full human years; to deny him just wouldn’t be right, because John, like it or not, had taught him many things. One of them being his trust in Rose Tyler. The fact that he could even trust her with his heart. Hearts. Which was why he was here.

Rose set her jaw and lowered her gaze to her hands; her fingers were interlaced in a painful-looking knot in her lap.

“I cannot bring John back,” he said. “But I can assure you that being him has changed me.” It was the first time he had openly admitted that. It felt good, even though he was sure that Rose wasn’t going to be moved by it. Impressed, maybe, grateful if he was lucky, but he said the words with no hidden agenda. He just needed to get them out.

She looked up. “I miss him.”

His mouth went dry. John’s life had been a lot simpler, if not entirely free from pain.

“What about Nell and Ben and Sophie?”

“They were a reminder of what I lost in the Time War,” he said truthfully. “I hid from the man I had become, by turning myself into John. But my subconscious wouldn’t have any of it. Nell and Ben and Sophie were constant reminders of my loss. I killed my people, Rose. All of them. By giving them faces and names, my subconscious, or more probably the TARDIS, ensured that I’d never break free of what I’d done no matter how far I tried to run.”

She stared at him for the longest time. “Why did you kill your people?”

“I had to in order to save the universe. Another race was wiped out in its entirety alongside them. But it was either them or the universe as we know it.”

Rose drew in a shuddering breath.

The truth was off his chest, and although he knew he’d never get redemption for his deeds, he could at least try to be a better man as part of his penance. His punishment was survival.

“It’s an impossible choice,” Rose eventually said.

“What?”

“Pitting your people, your entire planet against the well-being of the universe. No one should have to make that decision.”

He heard the question underlying her words. “I’ve always been an outsider,” he began. “I never fit in, which is, I suppose, why the decision was mine to make.”

Rose shook her head. “No one should have to make a decision like this.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line.

“So. About my question,” she began. “And I’m not fishing for compliments here. How exactly did I save your life?”

He guffawed. “If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be dead now.” He hated himself for saying it that way. He should have anticipated the horror reflected in her eyes. “Jimmy and the other Autons are all right. It’s the actual plastic that kills.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for saving my life, Rose Tyler.”

“You’d have regenerated.”

He shook his head. “Not this time, no. I wouldn’t have had the chance. Plastic death is instantaneous. No time to regenerate.”

“So it takes a while for the process of regeneration to set in?” she asked.

“Yes. There are some instances, however, when death would be immediate and irreversible.”

“You’re not immortal then,” she said with a tinge of relief. “Not really, but you might as well be, with your nine-hundred years of life behind you.”

“Time stretches when you travel in it,” he said. “I might as well only be forty years old, with a memory worth of 22.5 lifetimes of that.”

Rose shifts to sit cross-legged on her bum. “That doesn’t really help. How much time has passed for you since the ball?”

“I tried to allow the time to pass at the same speed as it does for you.”

She looked up, the lines between her eyebrows deep. They shouldn’t be there, but they were, and they were his fault. “Why?”

“I got used to living life on the slow path. And I wanted—” He trailed off. His idea sounded a bit ridiculous, and possibly a bit upsetting, no matter how true. “I wanted to see if time could really heal a broken heart.”

“You have two,” she pointed out, her voice sounding dry. She’d clearly not expected that, and it seemed so overwhelming that for the moment she didn’t know what to do with this bit of information.

He smiled. “Doesn’t make things easier.”

“Love,” she offered.

“Yes.”

She blinked. “Just how different are you and John?”

He shrugged. “Not that much. John is me, minus the guilt and the anger… and the responsibility. Also without all the heightened senses and superior thi—”

She held up her hand but she smiled. “Thanks, I get the idea.”

“We’re the same, Rose.”

“I’m not sure if I can… do that. Accept that you’re really John. Could you bring him back?”

The space around his hearts tightened. He hadn’t come expecting things to go back to the way they'd been before the ball two years ago. Well, he had _hoped_ they might, but hope was all he'd had. But Rose was right. The gap between them was too wide to be able to fix it over a cuppa. “Yes.”

“But you wouldn’t,” she concluded.

He shook his head. “No. I can’t.”

“For obvious reasons. The Nestene Consciousness. Must be a lonely life. Assuming that you… travel alone?”

“I am. At least I was.”

Rose buried her face in her hands and for a moment he thought she was going to cry, but then she looked up at him, dropping her hands to her lap. “I can’t just leave.” She smiled painfully, blushing.

“Rose, why are you…?”

“I suppose I assumed that you’d still want me to go with you.”

His hearts beat away the narrowness between them, boxing their way out of his sorrow’s confines. “I do. Oh, I do.”

Rose broke into a wide smile. “I missed you. After two years of… all of this, and I still miss you.” This time, she did break into tears, wiping them away with flat hands. The gesture looked painful, red weals rising on her cheeks almost immediately. They faded almost as quickly, leaving her skin clear.

His own mouth had gone dry, and he didn’t noticed his respiratory bypass kick in for a few beats. Rose had missed him. Which meant that she still felt affectionate towards him. He reached out, at a loss for words for once, to cup her cheek. Rose leaned into his touch, her tears wetting the side of his thumb. Somehow, he managed to affect a smile. “At least you’re not alone, feeling like this.”

Rose made that peculiar half hiccup - half sob noise.

“I think you should sleep. The Nonipelli sheet works wonders, but nothing can beat a good night’s rest,” he advised.

“What about you? What are you going to do?”

“Oh, I… I haven’t seen the Harcourts in a while. Same goes for Jamie.”

“Is the Harcourts’ baby a boy or a girl?”

“A little boy, Jonathan.”

Rose smirked. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with Dr John Smith?”

He shook his head. “Not… entirely, no. They don’t believe in naming children after their friends or family members.”

“I visited _The Bookshop_ a couple of times, but… it wasn’t the same. Naoko and Mr Ashcroft are lovely. But the shop’s not the same without you. And you still owe me,” Rose said.

He straightened. He owed her on so many levels, he supposed. That she should raise the issue now surprised him, and he was truly clueless as to what to expect. “I do?”

“You still haven’t read to me.”

-:-

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to… meet him? After all that’s happened?” her mum asked the next morning.

Rose felt rested after a good night’s sleep, just like the Doctor had suggested. At first she was indignant, and she wanted to keep the Doctor’s revelation close to her heart. While the former was childish, the latter was impossible. If anything proved to her mum that the Doctor meant what he said, it would be his actions. “He lived life on the slow path. He kept checking on his godchild and on the lovely gentleman running _The Bookshop_ — you know,” she added, remembering something he had told her several months ago, “Mr Ashcroft, that’s his name, he knows that you can absolutely trust the Doctor. Apparently, the two go way back. Only the Doctor doesn’t remember because it hasn’t happened for him yet.”

Her mother crinkled her nose. “But if it hasn’t happened yet, how does Mr Ashcroft know? Besides, he’s an elderly gentleman. You know what happened to Grandfather Prentice’s memory in the end.”

“Time travel, Mum. Whatever links the Doctor and Mr Ashcroft happened in Mr Ashcroft’s past, and in the Doctor’s future.”

Her mum stared at her. “And you honestly believe that?”

“The Doctor did save me, didn’t he?” She shuddered at the sight she must have presented when the Doctor first brought her in from the fight with the Nestene Consciousness. It must have been ghastly. Unless, of course, he’d already wrapped her up in the Nonipelli sheet by the time he tucked her into her own bed.

She’d been naked underneath that sheet.

She shook her head. He had seen her naked before, so that wasn’t a big deal. Apart from the fact, of course, that as John he’d been her lover, not her physician.

Her mum nodded. “That he did.”

“You sound skeptical.”

“He would have saved anyone who’d helped him defeat the Nesting Consciousness, wouldn’t he? It’s the least he could do.”

Rose sighed. “You’re going to make him jump through all the hoops you can find, aren’t you? Before you trust him?”

“He broke your heart, Rose. I’ve seen it happen once too often.”

Rose closed her eyes and tilted her head against the backrest of the armchair. “He lived life on the slow path for me, Mum. He kept checking on me. And he got rid of Jimmy for me. For us. He won’t bother us ever again.”

“How did he do that? Brawn or brains?”

Rose chuckled, straightening. “Brains.” She told her mum about the idea that the Doctor had planted in Jimmy’s mind. “Besides, if you need references for the Doctor, you can always ask Sarah Jane.” Her mum thought highly of the journalist because of what she’d done for Rose in the aftermath of the Doctor’s return.

“I just want you to be careful, Rose. And happy.”

Rose stood and hugged her mum. “Thank you. I know you have to go Dad on me in the help-my-daughter’s-dating department. And I appreciate it.”

Her mum held her close and kissed her cheek a tad wetly, then she withdrew. “Just don’t forget about your exams.”

“Now that I’m so close to them? Never.”

“I know you’ve worked hard, sweetheart, and you deserve to play. Just be careful, yeah?”

Rose kissed her cheek before she grabbed her bag. Along with her book bag, a surprise gift from Howard, she had also packed her emergency toiletry bag into her new handbag. It was far too soon to spend the night with the Doctor, of that she was well aware, but she wanted to be prepared for anything— even if spending the night with the Doctor was just about sharing a bed. Who knew, they might not be physically compatible at all.

That thought slowed her down. She was getting ahead of herself at breakneck speed, getting her expectations up, and the idea of anatomic differences between her and the Doctor was as disturbing as it was funny. If the latter turned out to be the least of their problems they’d find a way to work around it, although she had to admit that she’d probably hate the idea of being unable to have him inside her.

“Woah, Rose,” she admonished herself as she jumped onto the bus. She had an entire day of school and work ahead of her; she usually took Friday nights off to unwind, so she and the Doctor had arranged to meet at the small pub off the high street afterwards.

Luckily, these last lessons before the finals were filled with lots of last minute questions and revisions from the others; it didn’t really matter to her because as far as she could tell she was on top of things. Putting all of her energy into her education and work paid off, but what Howard had said, although not intended for her ears, stuck in her mind. _“What happens after the exams are over and done with? She might fall into a deep deep hole, Jacks. I don’t want her to fall.”_

 _I’ll still have my work,_ she thought, adjusting her grip on the book bag as it started to slide down her lap.

“You look distracted, love,” Aggie said towards the end of her shift at _Henrik’s_.

Rose took a deep breath. “John’s back.” Despite their friendship, Rose hadn’t told Aggie the complete truth about John. At first, it had been too painful and then it had seemed ridiculous to tell her that John turned out to be a nine-hundred year-old alien who’d transmogrified himself into a human to hide.

“What?” Aggie dropped her hand. “Why?” And then, growing indignant, “How dare he?”

She couldn’t tell Aggie now that she’d actually asked him to return. “It turns out that we still have feelings for each other. He came to find me in one of 'our' places.”

“And?”

“And I intend to grill him.”

“Not that he’s not dishy, but do you think that’s a good idea?” Aggie asked. “He broke your heart.”

“He asked me to go with him. I refused him, remember?” Why was she defending him so vigorously?.

“For good reason!”

“Aggie, I—“

“Excuse me? Do you have this shirt in size ten?” an elderly lady asked them, holding up a black t-shirt that was brightened by a riot of flowery colours.

Rose took it from her with a gracious smile, glad for the chance to escape to the stock room for a few minutes. There was no doubt that he had betrayed her. But. He had come to London to hide in human form, with all consciousness of who he really was hidden safely away. At least he had been until Sarah Jane had arrived on the scene, clearly drawn to him because of what, she knew now, were obviously characteristics he shared with the Doctor. She still hadn’t forgotten about the pictures Mickey had shown her of the Doctor. She’d never been able to bring herself to contact Clive, and there certainly hadn’t been any time to discuss the matter with the Doctor.

In the margin of her notebook she’d scribbled a list of questions that she had for the Doctor. Seated at a tiny table in the pub, she pulled that notebook out of her book bag to go through the list again. Checking to see if there were any duplicates, or if she needed to rephrase them.

The Doctor hadn’t arrived yet, and there was a nasty voice at the back of her head wondering if he’d show up at all. But of course he did, about a second after she’d batted that thought away.

“Sorry, I was chatting to Naoko and we got carried away.”

“What story did you tell her? About who you were?”

He looked at her, his hands resting on the dark table top. “The truth. Always the truth for those closest to me.”

“My mum will probably have a word or two for you.”

“Again?” he looked horrified, cupping his left cheek protectively. “I suppose I deserved that. Still deserve it.”

“She just wants to make sure I won’t get hurt. Again.”

“I’m so sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d turn back time and—“

“Then why don’t you?” she asked.

“There are rules, Rose Tyler, that can’t be bent. Not even for you.”

She blinked. Before she could think of something to say, he asked her what she wanted to drink and eat. “You have English money?”

He patted his pockets, producing a sizeable roll of notes and a substantial handful of coins. His helpless expression was strangely comical.

“You have no idea about English money, do you?”

He opened his mouth in protest, but clicked it shut. Rose wondered how she was supposed to be objective around him. He shook his head. “John has. What would you like?”

“A cider and a BLT with extra chips.”

“Hungry, Rose Tyler?” He left with a wink and returned a few minutes later with their drinks.

“Why was Jimmy turned into an Auton?” she blurted.

The Doctor, apparently no stranger to bluntness, replied calmly. “You can accuse the Nestene Consciousness of many things, but not of being ignorant about local pop culture. They saw Jimmy as the next big thing, back when, and… well. He’s probably susceptible to their promises too.”

Rose frowned. “What would that be?”

“Fame.”

“So Jimmy’s just famous because of aliens?”

The Doctor shrugged.

Rose sighed. “Well, that part of the plan didn’t work out. Because his band is actually really good.”


	29. Chapter 29

When Rose opened the door to the flat she was alerted to her mum’s presence more by the sounds coming from the lounge than by the dim sheen of light that she should have noticed through the narrow window by the door. She was about to call out to her to let her know she was home when a squeal-liked giggle was followed by Howard’s grunt.

_Oh no._

She couldn’t possibly stay here.

Rose blushed. She went to the side table on tip-toe, where she found a pen and a sticky pad to leave her mum a note on the door before she closed it gently behind her.

So she hadn’t packed the bag of travel toiletries for nothing, and maybe the Doctor would give her one of his t-shirts to sleep in. If Time Lords wore clothing like that. For all she knew, his kind preferred togas or loin cloths or—

Stop it, Rose Tyler!

The TARDIS was parked by the roll shutters that kept the huge windows of the empty shops safe. It was unsightly, especially the graffiti that covered them, but she supposed that boarded-up windows would have looked even worse. Someone had sprayed white letters on the TARDIS’ perfect blue coat already, Bad Wolf, a tag she hadn’t seen before. A few bins had collected around her, too. Even a dandelion had pierced the cracked pavement where the edge of the ship rested on the ground. She wondered how long she had been standing there — it didn't seem to her that it had been long enough for weeds to grow.

She knocked on the door, resisting the invitation on the neighbouring panel to pull the compartment open to call the police. To her surprise, her knock sounded solid, as if it was wood. It occurred to her that the rap of her fragile knuckles against it wouldn’t be heard, not even in the quiet of the ship within.

Not that the ship was entirely quiet. The TARDIS was alive, the Doctor had explained when she’d asked him about the rhythmic humming that was sometimes punctuated by what might have been been a long breath or a sigh, if they'd come from a human. She wasn’t quite sure how a ship could be alive, let alone sentient — the Doctor and his ship were somehow linked on a telepathic basis — but she was intrigued by her.

To her surprise, the door opened with a geriatric squeak and wheeze and the Doctor leaned against the closed half of it. “Rose? Everything all right?”

He was still wearing his jeans and jumper, and he was wiping his greasy hands on a soiled rag. “Is she broken?” Rose asked, half-curious, half-concerned.

“No, no. Just a bit of tinkering, you know. Some TLC.”

“Ah.”

“You all right?” he asked again.

“Yeah, fine. It’s just… Howard’s over and the… um… lounge is. Well, I nearly walked in on them having sex on the sofa.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened in understanding, his lips rounding into an expression of surprise. “So you can’t stay there. Obviously. Bit awkward, that.”

“Yeah,” she said, tucking the tip of her tongue into the corner of her mouth. “I was wondering if I could stay here, with you?”

He stared at her.

“I could go to Mickey’s, if—”

“No! No, please, come inside. I’ve got plenty of space,” he said, starting a little and stepping aside as if he were just waking from a dream. 

“If it’s not a good time because you’re tinkering,” she began.

“It’s not that, Rose.” He closed the door behind her and she slowly went up the slanting parquet walk to the grating surrounding the centre console. Although she’d been in here a couple of times, stepping into the warm, underwater-like light the coral gave off was amazing. The thrum of the ship enveloped her as if welcome her and she felt oddly soothed and safe.

“She _is_ welcoming you,” the Doctor said softly, close behind her.

She turned around to look at him. “Is that how you fly her? Telepathically?”

He laughed, dropping the rag onto the console. “No, I don’t. TARDISes are made to be flown by a whole team, hence the design of the centre column.”

“But… it’s just you, isn’t it?” she asked, her heart constricting the moment the words had left her mouth.

“We manage. It’s only ever been me and her.”

“So you’re good at flying her?” A silvery tinkling suffused her that tickled in the inside of her ears. The TARDIS was laughing.

“I’m… okay,” he said.

_Liar._

The word popped up in Rose’s mind so suddenly she was sure that it wasn’t her own. She had nothing to base such a judgment on. “Oh!” she gasped.

The Doctor reached out for her arms, and when he closed his fingers around them Rose immediately felt more stable on her feet. “She’s establishing a link. Just… relax and let her, if you want. If you don’t, just say so and she won’t.”

He looked searchingly at her, his fingers still tight around her arms. “What is it, Doctor?”

“She hasn’t done that in a while. Never, actually,” he said softly. “She’d usually just include you in her translation circuit, but…” He looked up into the dome-shaped ceiling, where a branch-like structure of hoses and cables surrounded the narrow part of the centre column and connected it to some hidden machinery.

“Doctor?” Rose asked, her eyes following his gaze. “It’s… it’s a good thing, right?”

He looked at her. “Yeah,” he said, a smile growing on his face, “it certainly is.”

A thrum reverberated through the console room.

“Right, yes. Let’s get you sorted. Have you got everything you need?” he asked, looking at her bag.

“My toiletries, but I think I’ll need one of your t-shirts to sleep in.” 

“The TARDIS has a magnificent wardrobe, she’ll sort you.”

Another thrum, this time the equivalent of a sorrowful shake of the head. _It’s… all right,_ Rose thought, directing the words at the ship. Another thrum followed to acknowledge her, agreeing that a little bit of time might be just what the Doctor needed. And she. Besides, this was a real emergency, not a clumsy plan to bed the Doctor.

And still his reply hurt.

Rose reminded herself that it had been her decision to stay behind. It was only natural that the Doctor was hurt and, although open and welcoming, holding back to keep his hearts safe.

“Thank you.”

“Well then, let me show you to your room,” he said, preceding her down another parqueted walkway she hadn’t noticed before. A short corridor with others branching off connected the console room with another dome-covered room that looked like the console room without the console and various doors between the huge coral struts. On the far side of the circular hall was an open doorway that seemed to lead into a similar room.

“Here are the rooms I use most often. The TARDIS has just squeezed in a room for you, but you won’t notice it’s squeezed in once you’re inside. Perks of trans-dimensional time ship construction,” he said. Then, turning counterclockwise as he rattled off the purpose of the rooms: “Kitchen, infirmary, library, pool, workshop, my bedroom, your — Huh. Oi!”

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’d asked the TARDIS nicely to arrange for a bedroom for you,” he said. “She does that. I wanted her to exchange my bedroom for yours. I don’t sleep much, you see, so I don’t really need it so close to the console room.”

Rose yawned broadly at that moment — the idea of sleep and a bed must have triggered it. She was so tired that the yawn brought tears to her eyes. “Sorry,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“Tell you what, you take my room. I hope she’ll at least change the sheets. I don’t need to sleep tonight so you’ll have the bed to yourself,” he said, pushing the door open.

It was a surprisingly small room, certainly no bigger than his bedroom at the school, but the port-holey coral wall and struts were bathed in the same gorgeous underwater sunshine as the rest of the ship. “You brought John’s bed,” she said, her heart picking up speed as she recognised the dark, polished wood and the four posts of his bed. It was neatly made, the white and cream bedclothes crisp and filling the air with the scent of fresh linen dried in the sun. The books that had filled John’s bed were there too, neatly stacked on the ottoman at the foot of the bed.

“Yes, I did. I brought all of his things.”

She turned to him. “What happened to the flat?”

“Oh, I let it. I’m a land lord now too.”

Rose punched his arm playfully, like she used to punch John’s. She apologised for the overly familiar gesture. “Are you sure about this?”

“Oh yes,” he said, folding his arms. “As I said, I don’t sleep much.”

“Do you still have the nightmares?”

“I’d better get back to my tinkering. Don’t want to keep the hatch open and the wiring disconnected too long. Strange things could happen.”

“Strange things?” Rose asked, catching up.

He shrugged. “I haven’t had the chance to look at that particular circuit, so… it’s difficult to say. See you in the morning.”

“When do I know it’s morning? There are no windows and no clocks.”

The cold in his eyes warmed a little. “It’s morning when you’re ready for morning.”

4 May 2007

“I have so many questions,” Rose said as she sipped the tea the Doctor had put down in front of her. It was a massive cup, the kind you got at Starbucks or Costa if you order the most expensive coffee on the menu. Wondering how she was supposed to manage the hot ceramic, she was surprised when she found it cool to the touch.

“I’m going to answer all of them,” he said.

She looked up. “Really?”

“I was wrong to ask you to come with me when I did. I knew how important school was… _is_ for you. I’m really impressed and proud of you, by the way.”

She frowned. “You know how I’m doing at school?”

“Yeah. Top ten of your year you are,” he said.

Rose wasn’t sure whether to be amazed, pleased, or annoyed. She’d had no idea how well she was doing. She knew she had great marks but she’d never thought they were that good. But never mind that. “You… checked up on me?” _Stalked_ was too strong a word, yet it popped up in her mind before she replaced it with _checked_.

“Oh. You didn’t want me to. I’m sorry. I just… I wanted to know without actually asking. You might not have agreed to parley. Shadow Proclamation doesn’t really cover that kind of situation.”

“And what kind is that?” she asked, trying to focus on the simplest of all the matters he had raised. Actually, she should stop him so she could ask all the questions she really wanted answered, because all he was doing now was deflecting and raising even more questions.

The Doctor took a shuddering breath. “I love you, Rose Tyler.”

Her heart did that fluttery thing that left her breathless for a few moments. It hadn’t done that when John first told her he loved her. There was only one reason why it did that now. 

“I love you too.”

The smile that nearly split his face in half and crinkled the corners of his eyes made her heart forget how to do its job for a moment.

“So the situation is really rather complicated,” he said, sobering just enough to be able to talk about next steps. The laughter warmed his eyes further, and for the first time since he had turned into the Doctor she really looked into them. They were definitely John’s eyes.

“It doesn’t need to be. Not until I’m done with my finals,” she said.

“Which is soon, but… didn’t you… I mean. Didn’t you get your A-levels to go to uni?” he asked, reaching across the table for her hands. Why had it taken until after they had professed their love for them to touch in such an intimate way? The answer became moot when she noticed how cold his hand was. She was sorry he was so nervous.

“The man I love is an alien,” she said. “That’s what makes it so complicated. And easy. Couldn’t you… take me back to 2007 any time so I could enter uni when I’m ready?”

“You’re not ready for uni? Why?” he asked in surprise.

“All I’ve done for the past five years is work and go to school. I’m… I’m not sure I can do much more of it once the exams are over,” she said. “I need a break. I need to live.”

“And—”

They were interrupted by a rather indignant sounding knock on the door. Indignant and insistent.

“Mum,” Rose said, recognising the pattern. “How did she get into the TARDIS?”

“She didn’t. The TARDIS amplifies the knocking so I’ll be able to hear it wherever I am. Police boxes don’t come with a door bell.”

“Why a police box?”

“It’s a disguise. Put a police box slap bang in the middle of London and no one notices it. Best disguise ever.”

“What’s it look like on the moon?” she asked, chagrined at her lack of imagination. _The moon? Really, Rose? Of all the places in time and space it has to be the moon you come up with first?_

“Police box. Chameleon Circuit’s broken,” the Doctor replied. “I’d better get this.” The knocking hadn’t stopped.

Rose was glad she had showered and dressed before going to the kitchen in search of some breakfast. She sipped her tea for a few moments, fortifying herself for her mum’s arrival. A quick glance at her watch told her that Howard had probably already left and her mum had started to wonder where she was.

“Rose!” Mum breezed into the kitchen, her face radiant and her arms open to receive her in a massive hug. Puzzled, Rose stood to wrap her arms around her mum. She frowned at the Doctor over the back of her shoulder. She’d certainly not expected a smile and a hug.

“What is it, Mum?” she asked, pulling away. Her mum’s eyes were swimming in tears, but a huge smile was still firmly etched into her face. It was as if it wasn’t going to go away any time soon. Or ever.

Her mum showed her the ring on her left hand. It was new and shiny and unmistakably an engagement ring. “Howard’s finally asked you?” Rose squealed in delight, hugging her mum again. Her mum was beyond the ability to speak, so all Rose got as an answer was a rather sloppy kiss and a tight hug.

“That’s wonderful, Mum! I’m so happy for you. I’d been wondering when he’d get around to it,” Rose said, stroking her mum’s back. The Doctor looked at them in open surprise. He might be a Time Lord but he certainly hadn’t seen this coming. How could he? He barely knew her mum. Still it was reassuring because it meant that for all the mild stalking he’d been up to he obviously wasn’t crazy enough to take a peek into their future.

Once her mum calmed down, they sat down at the table, and fresh tea made an appearance alongside one of the best vintages of Dom Pérignon, courtesy of the Doctor’s cellar. “It was a gift,” he said by way of explanation as he removed the wire capping and cork, which came out with a promising plop and the gentlest fizzing.

“2346?” Mum asked as she picked up the bottle once they’d toasted Howard and her.

“I’m a Time Lord,” the Doctor said. “It means I travel in time.”

“I have a few questions for you, Time Lord,” Mum said.

“Mum, please. This isn’t —”

“Shush, you. Why didn’t you bring her back last night?”

“I came home but you and Howard were… celebrating, so I decided to ask if I could sleep on the sofa here,” Rose said.

“Is that so?” Mum asked, looking at the Doctor.

“Actually, she slept in my bed. I don’t use it much. The linens were fresh,” he said.

“Don’t use it much? What does that mean?”

“It means that I don’t sleep as much as Humans.”

“Don’t you have a spare room?”

“Not last night, I didn’t, no.”

Her mum frowned. “What does that mean?”

The Doctor explained to her, very patiently, how the TARDIS organised the rooms and their layout. 

“Huh,” her mum said, finishing her champagne. “I’ll tell you something, Doctor. If you hurt Rose again I’ll slap you straight into 2346. You hear me? Because you have no idea how hard it is, staying behind.”

“Actually, I know what it’s like,” he said. Thankfully, he didn't try to tell Jackie that it had been Rose's choice. But she supposed that he was well aware of the fact that she really hadn’t had a choice two years ago. This was about the betrayal, and they’d only started to work on it. “But I promise I’ll keep her safe, Jackie.”

-:-

Later that day they went for a walk. Rose needed to return some books to the library and pick up the ones she’d ordered. The Doctor suggested that she could always use the books in his library, so she stepped in front of him to get his full attention. “Doctor.”

“Yes, Rose?” he grinned goofily at her.

“I need to do this my way. Going to the library, borrowing their books. Sit my exams. Prepare myself for what comes after.”

“What comes after?”

“I don’t know yet, yeah? You know I love you. I just need… please give me some time to… I do want to come with you. It’s just… I want to bring this part of my life to an decent end, yeah?”

He took her hand. “Fair enough.”

“Wasn’t there ever anyone else, after… me and John?”

He shook his head. “No, Rose. I don’t fall in love easily.”

“What about… having fun?”

“I’d like you to know this, Rose. The curse of the Time Lords. I will never be able to share my forever with you.”

She was about to point out that he could always turn himself into a Human again, but it was a silly, thoughtless idea. Of course he couldn’t do that. “I—”

He stilled her words with his fingers on her lips. “Don’t say it. You’re not ready yet.”

She pressed her lips against the rough pads of his fingers. He was right. But what she could do, what she wanted to do, was kiss him. She moved his hand away from her lips and looked expectantly at him.

Overwhelmed at first, he eventually bent to press his lips to hers. The moment they touched set free a riot of beautiful memories. Although his lips were cool, they felt just as full and pliant as John’s, and soon the mere pressing of lips on lips wasn’t enough. Rose opened up to invite him in. His tongue met hers carefully, and when it did, the wet touch sent a jolt through her.

“You’re so cold!” she squeaked as she withdrew.

“Body temperature’s lower than yours. It’s normal.” He took her hand. It was still cool, but now she knew it wasn’t because he was nervous.

“Even when you’re nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” he scoffed.

Rose chuckled. “Yeah, you are.” She knew she was nervous. It was their first kiss in two years. The fact that he hadn’t moved on with his life was reason enough to make her nervous. Of all the fabulous women in the universe and history he could have, he loved _her_.

“Kiss it better?” 

And she did.


	30. Chapter 30

23 May 2007

The night before Rose’s last exam, French — she was rather good and she was adamant the TARDIS stay out of her mind for the duration of the exam — they went to the Harcourts’ for dinner. It was the third time that Phin and Becca had invited them over, and he was looking forward to playing with Jonathan, who was eighteen months old and starting to speak. He was a sweet little boy with a sunny disposition, and thanks to his parents’ gentle but firm upbringing he was a well-behaved toddler. 

That was what everyone knew about Jonathan. 

The Doctor, however, spoke Baby, and he enjoyed his conversations with the little boy. Phin and Becca were amazed by how well the two of them got on, particularly at bed-time, and how Jonathan seemed to regress a little when he realised that there was someone who understood his brabbling. Phin was disappointed that his son chose not to speak properly when all he wanted was to show him off to the Doctor.

Rose laughed at the idea. “Maybe you should put them out of their misery,” she suggested.

“Nah,” the Doctor shook his head, adjusting his grip around her hand as they climbed the stairs to the Harcourts’ flat. “It’ll end soon enough anyway, when he starts speaking in earnest.”

Even though he knew her, Jonathan was reluctant around Rose at first. He favoured the Doctor, launching himself into his arms. The Doctor cuddled the little boy to him before throwing him up into the air and catching him only to mock-drop him and swing him between his legs before another round on the roller-coaster.

“I’m not sure who’s having more fun, you or Jonathan,” Rose said, laughing. She gave Becca the bottle of wine she’d brought from the deli department at _Henrik’s_. 

“Me!” the Doctor cried, grinning widely.

“Memememe!” squealed Jonathan.

“Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?” Becca asked Rose.

“Yes, but I won’t be able to sleep anyway, and I might as well relax in the company of friends,” Rose explained. The Doctor had been surprised when she’d said she could go.

“Then I certainly hope we won’t disappoint,” Phin said.

After the Doctor had put Jonathan to bed, they sat down to eat Phin’s excellent food.

“Look at me,” the Doctor said at one point, “how domestic.”

Rose reached for his hand and he stroked her fingers with his thumb. “This is all John. My old me would never have done this. Have a proper sit-down. Put a toddler to bed.”

“I hope that’s good,” Phin said.

The Doctor beamed. “It’s fantastic. It’s all thanks to you. All of you. And the TARDIS. She left me in your care.”

Becca put her fork down very slowly. “I used to think it was just dumb luck that I’d found you.”

“It was for me. I was beyond caring at that point,” he explained. “But the TARDIS looked out for me as best she could. Can. She still does that.”

“How?” Becca asked, folding her arms on the edge of the table.

“She is responsible for the feeling that you could trust me. It was there all along, inside you, but the TARDIS amplified it,” he said, taking another bite.

Rose turned her hand in his, getting his attention. She shook her head minutely. He knew that the concept of having the presence of his beloved ship inside her mind had taken her quite a while to get used to. But the TARDIS was more of a presence in her mind than it had ever been in Becca’s.

“So you manipulated me from the very start,” Becca said calmly.

“I did, and I am sorry,” he replied. “But… I’m glad it was you.”

“Well, that makes it all right then,” Becca said.

“Darling,” Phin said, reaching out for her hand. “I’m sure that the TARDIS manipulated me too.”

“I feel so stupid right now.” 

“Don’t, please” the Doctor said. “It’s not your fault.”

She scoffed. “It certainly isn’t.”

There was an uncomfortable silence at the table for a few moments. Eventually, Becca took a deep breath. “I know. I’m glad it was me too. It’s just… the idea that there’s another consciousness in my mind… it’s not exactly comforting.”

“It does take some getting used to,” Rose said.

“She’s inside your mind?” Becca asked in horror.

“Yes, but it’s more like a reassurance, and most of the time I don’t feel her at all.”

“How do you know that she’s not manipulating you into staying with him?” Phin asked.

The Doctor wanted to bristle, but it was a legitimate question. After all, the TARDIS had reinforced Becca’s feeling without invitation.

“I was miserable for almost two years after John turned back into the Doctor,” Rose said. “I do love him. Besides, I can always say no.”

“And you never… he never reinforced that feeling?”

“No, never. I’d not do that, particularly not after she’d told me she wouldn't come with me. That would be… unethical.”

“You never asked my permission.”

The Doctor looked at his half-eaten meal. They’d stopped eating a while ago. The part of him that was John had taught him not to keep time of every event. It was a good feeling, a feeling that set him free in a way. “You didn’t ignore me. Most people would have, wouldn’t they?”

“So… by approaching you I gave my consent?”

“I couldn’t exactly ask for a signature and three copies,” he replied.

Becca slumped and sighed. “I don’t know what to think any more, Doctor.”

Her words filled the space between his hearts with cold.

“I know it was wrong. But you saved me. Your kindness saved me, and I’ll be in your debt forever. My forever.”

Becca sighed, leaning back. “I don’t want you to. I want you to forgive yourself.”

He stared at her. Of all the conditions at her fingertips she had chosen the penance that was hardest for him. But, he supposed, he deserved it. Instead of facing responsibility for his actions in the Time War he had run. It was high time he acknowledged that.

“Besides, I think you have suffered enough at Sarah Jane’s hands,” she said.

“What?”

Even Phin and Rose looked at Becca in surprise. “She’s responsible for turning you back into the Doctor, isn’t she? If it hadn’t been for her, you might still be John and none of us the wiser. Granted, we might all be plastic dummies. Or we might not, if Sarah Jane had succeeded in dealing with the Nestene Consciousness by herself.”

That hurt.

It hurt so much that he was speechless. Sarah, his Sarah, would never be so cruel.

“She didn’t ask for his return to split us up,” Rose said softly. “It was I who insisted on breaking up after. Besides, Sarah Jane’s objective was saving the Earth, which she has so many times now without ever being acknowledged for it. Weird things happen, they get explained away, we move on. No one’s the wiser.”

“What?” Phin asked, stopping as he topped up their wine. Rose placed her hand over the top of her glass, stopping him from filling hers. She had an exam in the morning, after all.

“She never did anything to actively break us up. It was a side effect of this whole thing. And she couldn’t have done this by herself,” Rose said. When she finished, she slumped back into her chair, reaching for her glass of wine.

 _When did she let go of my hand,_ he wondered as he dropped his hand into his lap.

“But she probably was aware of it when she realised who you really were,” Phin said.

“She was right to bring me back,” the Doctor said. 

“Why didn’t the TARDIS?” Rose asked.

“Because I’d shut her down after I was settled. She needed the rest to heal,” he explained.

“Who else is there to defend the Earth?” Phin asked.

“Apart from Sarah there’s Torchwood and UNIT. The Earth is never undefended when I’m not around.”

-:-

It wasn’t late when they returned to the Powell Estate, and he wanted to spend some more time with Rose in the library. They’d often done that in the past few weeks. She’d revise and study, taking copious notes on a pad of paper while he read or played the piano. The TARDIS had accommodated John’s grand piano with ease by adjusting the bookcases. The books had been somewhat rearranged as a result, and at first he was lost in his own library. Then he’d discovered a new section, a collection of late 20th and early 21st century Earth literature, with a good choice of children’s and YA books, and he’d smiled. They were for John and for Rose.

He wondered how long he was going to refer to John as a man in his own right, when in fact John was part of him, as he’d tried to explain to Rose and the Harcourts on more than just one occasion. It was high time he acknowledged it himself. His life as a Human man had only lasted two years, but it had changed him profoundly.

“I suppose this is good night,” he said, stepping in front of Rose as they reached the front door of her building. He took Rose’s free hand and bent slightly at the waist to kiss her.

“I’m not sleepy,” Rose said, kissing him.

“What about your exam?”

“I’m so done with exams.”

He looked at her in horror. “You’re not—”

She laughed. “No, of course not. Can’t a girl moan a bit?”

“Not about that kind of thing, but if it’s moaning you want,” he said, stopping himself. What was he thinking? In the weeks since their reunion, they hadn’t made love once. They’d never talked about it. He supposed that the idea of making love to an alien left Rose a bit nervous.

“Actually,” Rose laughed in relief, “I do. It’s just…”

“How does it work? With me as a Time Lord.”

“For all I know it could be green and prickly,” she said.

“It isn’t.”

She stared at him.

“It’s cool, like the rest of me.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He sighed. “This wasn’t how I’d imagined this to be.”

“This?”

“Making love to you again. If you’ll let me. Kissing and cuddling are nice too,” he hurried to say.

Rose laughed. “I thought you wouldn’t want me.”

Now it was he who stared. “What? Why wouldn’t I want you? You’re beautiful. You’re my Rose. I love you.”

Rose flushed a lovely shade of pink in the orange illumination of the court. “Well, I’m only Human.”

“Only? When I ran, Rose, I came _here_ to live out my days as a Human. I chose you,” he said. And it had been a no-brainer.

“Can I stay at yours tonight?” Rose asked, her eyes shining now.

“I might need to get some sleep too,” he warned her.

“That’s the point of me asking, isn’t it?” she asked, doing that thing with the tip of her tongue. “I want you, Doctor. I want you to make me moan in the right way.”

Her words went straight to his groin, and it was only from there that they spread through his whole body, leaving a warm trail of tingling anticipation in their wake. He bent to kiss her, for once lost for words.

Afterwards, they went to the TARDIS who had blended in nicely with the background, bins, graffiti, dandelion, and all. Maybe not so much the graffiti: Bad Wolf. What were they thinking? 

They didn’t speak a word, communicated instead with small squeezes and strokes on their way to the bedroom. It had become their bedroom in the weeks the TARDIS had been parked here. Rose had stayed the night more often than not, and he’d timed his sleep in a way that he caught up on it when Rose wasn’t around.

“Why did you never join me?” Rose asked when they’d reached their bedroom.

“I didn’t trust myself, and I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Do you still have the dreams?”

“I didn’t want to wake you when joining you,” he said.

“You’re daft.” She rose onto the balls of her feet and kissed him. Her hand rested against his cheek as she did so, and he leaned into her touch. How either of them had been able to wait so long for this moment was beyond him, but he supposed that they’d both needed time.

She preceded him into the bedroom, dropping her bag onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed. The bed was unmade, and her side was littered with the books he’d been reading the previous night. “I thought you needed to sleep tonight?” Rose asked.

“Sometimes I like to read in bed. It… it smells of you,” he added reluctantly. 

Rose smiled. “I love it when you leave your smell for me too.”

He guffawed. “Look at us.” He watched Rose as she collected the books on her side of the bed and piled them neatly on the ottoman where he usually put them when she slept over. He shrugged off his leather coat and threw it onto the chair by the door. When he turned back, she had deposited the last stack and took his hand and pulled him to the bed.

He pulled his jumper over his head, dropping it on the floor without care as he climbed onto the mattress beside Rose. She’d stretched out, waiting. The hem of her blouse had ridden up her midriff, baring her soft skin.

She pulled him towards her by the shoulders for a kiss. He didn’t dare lower himself onto her; she had commented on his skin temperature, and he didn’t want her to be cold, or startle her. Her mouth was so warm, but otherwise it was just like he remembered it. Better. His memory of her taste and texture had started to fade, and although they’d snogged a fair bit since his return, he still needed the reminder.

Rose broke away from him to catch her breath eventually, twisting out of his reach. “Let me look at you,” she said.

He sat up on his knees, his hands on his thighs. The position wasn’t comfortable for his growing erection, and Rose’s gaze travelled to the bulge almost immediately. He rose up and opened his jeans, pushing them down along with his pants. Rose’s eyes followed his every movement unashamedly. Only once did she look up, when he paused briefly. “Too much too fast?”

She shook her head, pushing herself up onto her elbows, and then she was kneeling too. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t get to sleep with an alien very often.”

“Neither do I.”

“But you know me. I’m the same as I was two years ago.”

Taking care of his cock, he pushed the two layers down his hips and thighs, and got rid of the trousers and pants. Then he sat back on his haunches, his cock jutting up from between his legs. “There,” he said. It wasn’t different from a Human cock, and he wondered when the right moment would be to warn her that it wasn’t only colder than Human cocks, but tended to be a very snug fit once he climaxed, locking him to her for a few minutes before they could separate. It was an atavistic need to ensure that the mating was successful. 

Rose’s gaze travelled up and down his body, apparently finding it outwardly unchanged from John’s. He was a bit disappointed that she didn’t ask if she could touch him, but he decided to follow her lead. Although they were here now, like this, making love to him was a big deal.

“My turn,” she said eventually, and started to undo the buttons on her blouse. He stilled her fingers.

“Please. Let me.”

She nodded. He continued unbuttoning where she had left off, and bit by bit he revealed her skin. “It’s… upsetting how much I’ve forgotten about your body,” he said. “Despite everything.”

She touched his hand. “I feel the same way. But we’ve got time now, yeah? We can rediscover each other, and commit each other to our memories.”

He smiled at her. “You are fantastic.” He stole a kiss, his hand still in hers, before he continued his work. As he revealed her body, he was delighted to recognise some of her freckles and his favourite spots to kiss and lick. “I like it there. You taste so good,” he said, touching the puffy bit of skin and fat where her arm met her armpit.

“Be my guest,” Rose whispered. “Do anything you like unless I say stop.”

His eyes widened. “I promise.” He wanted to thank her for this privilege, this gift of trust, but now was not the time. So instead he leaned forward and kissed the spot, darting his tongue out for the taste he craved. Rose gasped briefly when his cold flesh met her warm skin. “Will you be all right?” he asked, looking up.

She cupped his cheek again. “It’ll need some getting used to. But I like the feeling of kissing you. It’s as if you’ve just had ice cream.”

Taking off her bra, she leaned back onto her elbows to give him access to the fastenings of her jeans. It took him a moment to focus on this job, and he pressed a quick kiss to each of her breasts before he continued undressing her.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he rested his hands on her raised knees. “I _have_ to taste you. Now.”

Rose smiled and reached for the back of his head in encouragement as she allowed her legs to fall apart for him. John’s memory of her scent had faded, but even at its height it paled compared to what he could smell with his Time Lord nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Time Lords have very sharp senses,” he breathed.

“Oh… I… I feel a little… maybe I should take a shower first,” she said, dropping her hand from his head.

He planted a hand right between her breasts. “I love the way you smell, Rose. Please don’t. I don’t want you covered up by all kinds of soaps and lotions. I want _you_.” He held her intent gaze with as much openness as he could muster. She relaxed, and opened her legs again, which she’d clamped shut in horror.

“My Rose. You’re… fantastic. Exquisite.”

He bent to kiss the insides of her thighs, nuzzling her damp skin with his nose in an attempt to memorise her scent. “You’ve… you’ve shaved,” he said, looking up at her.

Her eyes were closed and she sighed. “Thought you might like it.”

He loved making love to her with his mouth, and her considerateness touched him. Instead of a reply, he flattened his tongue against the opening her labia. She replied with a buck and a moan. He teased her with more kisses and licks until he couldn’t hold himself back any more and her flicked his tongue against her clit. Rose came with a soft keening wail, her fingers seeking purchase in his short hair, holding him in place with her thighs.

He began to rub her thighs and abdomen in soothing circles to give her a chance to come down. Eventually, she relaxed and he moved from between her legs to her side to hold her. She was radiant in her bliss, and he vowed right that moment to never let her go. If he couldn’t have her for his forever, he’d keep her for hers.

 

24 May 2007

He knew Rose was going to be disappointed by his text, but it couldn’t be helped. Besides, if everything went according to plan, his plan, he’d more than make up for it. Their plan had been for him to pick her up after her exam and go somewhere sunny and beach-y so they could celebrate. He liked the last part of the plan, which was why he had changed the plan. Which made the text necessary. _Meet me at The Bookshop. Got caught up in something._

Rose’s expression, a mixture of elation and exhaustion, paired with a healthy helping of disappointment, broke his hearts when she stepped into _The Bookshop_. It was a stark contrast to the rapture on her face when he’d made love to her the night before. All morning, he’d nursed the image and the muscle memory of her moving beneath him, with him, as he finally slid into her wet warmth. He’d used a condom for the obvious reason and to spare her the shock of his cold seed pumping into her. 

Making love to her had felt like coming home, like finally reaching the place he truly belonged. Her graciousness and generosity moved him to tears as he spilled himself into the protective latex. They’d laughed afterwards, when they saw their mutual tears, and he’d never felt as safe and as right as he did at that moment.

“Doctor?” Rose asked.

“Up here,” he said, leaning over the back of the sofa and the banister. She quickly nodded at Naoko and Jamie in greeting before she climbed the stairs. He welcomed her with a hug and a quick kiss. There were kids sitting at his feet, eager for story time to begin. 

Some kids whistled, some made “Eww” sounds and yucky faces. But he wasn’t impressed or distracted by them. Rose was here. 

“How was your exam?”

“It was all right, I suppose,” she said.

He gestured for her to sit on the sofa beside him.

“What is this?”

“Story time. For you. Now, Rose Tyler, what would you like to listen to?”

“The latest _Miss Carline_ , of course,” she said, winking at their young audience. They cheered and clapped as the Doctor picked up the book from the floor and leafed to the beginning.

“ _Miss Carline took a deep breath. It was spring, and magic was in the air.”_


End file.
